COAST  OF  BOHEMIA 


HOMAS    NELSON   PAGE 


"Pi  33 


THE  COAST  OF  BOHEMIA 


THE  COAST  OF  BOHEMIA 


BY 

THOMAS  NELSON  PAGE 


NEW   YORK 

CHARLES  SCRIBNER'S  SONS 
1906 


Copyright,  1888,  1906,  by 
CHARLES  SCBIBNER'S  SONS 


THE   DE  VINNE   PRESS 


PEEFACE 

ONE  who  after  writing  prose  all  his  life  suddenly 
essays  to  launch  a  volume  of  verse,  must  know 
something  of  the  feeling  with  which  an  old-time  sailor 
after  coasting  only  his  native  shores  found  himself 
setting  sail  into  an  unknown  sea. 

The  author  of  this  little  volume  knows  quite  as  well 
as  the  most  experienced  mariner  the  temerity  of  sail 
ing  an  untried  main  in  so  frail  a  bark.  But  he  is 
willing,  if  the  Fates  so  decree,  to  go  down  with  the 
unnumbered  sail  of  that  great  fleet  which  have 
throughout  the  ages  faced  the  wide  ocean  of  oblivion, 
merely  for  the  thrill  of  being  for  a  brief  space  on  its 
vast  waters. 

Since  Horace,  secure  in  the  double  endowment  of 
genius  and  of  an  Emperor's  favor,  wrote  scornfully 
how  hated  of  gods  and  men  was  middling  verse,  no 
one  has  ever  doubted  the  fact — perhaps,  not  even  one 
of  all  the  myriads  who  have  dared  to  brave  that  bitter 
scorn.  The  explanation  then  for  the  production  of 


255912 


PREFACE 

so  much  of  the  despised  matter  must  be  that  there  is 
for  the  minor  poet  also  a  music  that  the  outer  world 
does  not  catch— an  inner  day  which  the  outer  world 
does  not  see.  It  is  this  music,  this  light  which,  for 
the  most  part,  is  for  the  lesser  poet  his  only  reward. 
That  he  has  heard,  however  brokenly,  and  at  however 
vast  a  distance,  snatches  of  those  strains  which  thrilled 
the  souls  of  Marlowe  and  Milton  and  Keats  and  Shel 
ley,  even  though  he  may  never  reproduce  one  of  them, 
is  moreover  a  sufficiently  high  reward. 

T.  N.  P. 


*  %  Most  of  the  poems  in  the  following  pa^es,  with  the  excep 
tion  of  those  in  dialect,  are  now  published  for  the  first  time. 


VI 


CONTENTS 
POEMS 

DEDICATION ft 

THE  COAST  OF  BOHEMIA 5 

THE  VOICE  OF  THE  SEA 10 

LONG  EOLL  AT  NAPOLEON  's  TOMB 15 

THE  PRINCESS'  PROGRESS 18 

YOUTH 21 

AMERICA:   GREETING 22 

DAWN 25 

THE  POET  ON  AGRADINA 26 

THE  SHEPHERD  OF  THE  SEAS 27 

SLEEP 28 

To  A  LADY  AT  A  SPRING 29 

UNFORGOTTEN       30 

THE  OLD  LION 31 

THE  DRAGON  OF  THE  SEAS 32 

THE  BENT  MONK 36 

THE  MESSAGE 40 

vii 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

THE  NEEDLE'S  EYE 42 

THE  CLOSED  DOOR 46 

CONVENTION 47 

THE  MAGDALEN 48 

THE  EEQUIREMENT 49 

THE  LISTENER 50 

CONTRADICTION 50 

THE  QUESTION 51 

OUR  DEAD 54 

MY  MOTHER 57 

HER  INFLUENCE 60 

MATTHEW  ARNOLD 62 

THE  STRANGER 63 

LOVE       65 

AN  OLD  EEFRAIN 66 

To  CLAUDIA 70 

THE  APPLE-TREES  AT  EVEN 72 

MY  TRUE-LOVE'S  WEALTH 74 

A  VALENTINE 76 

A  PORTRAIT 77 

FELICE        .78 

LOVE  SONG 80 

THE  HARBOUR  LIGHT 82 

FADED  SPRAY  OF  MIGNONETTE   .  83 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

LOST  KOSES 84 

DE  NAME  OF  OLE  VIRGINIA 85 

THE  DANCER 87 

THE  APRIL-FACE 89 

COME  BACK  TO  Us,  DAVIE 91 

THE  WITCH 93 

HUMANITY       93 

ASPIRATION 94 

EEALITY       94 

LITTLE  DOLLY  DIMPLE 95 

A  VALENTINE 96 

DIALECT  POEMS  (FROM  "BEFO'  DE  WAR") 

UNCLE  GABE'S  WHITE  FOLKS 101 

LITTLE  JACK 105 

ASHCAKE 110 

ZEKYL'S  INFIDELITY 114 

MARSE  PHIL 118 

ONE  MOURNER  .    .         123 


THE  COAST  OF  BOHEMIA 


....     "  Few,  few  are  they : 
Perchance,  among  a  thousand,  one 
Thou  shouldest  find,  for  whom  the  sun 
Of  Poesy  makes  an  inner  day." 
— The  Medea  of  Euripides— Way's  Translation. 


DEDICATION 

TO  F.  L.  P. 

AS  one  who  wanders  in  a  lonely  land, 
-£^-  Through  all  the  blackness  of  a  stormy  night, 
Now  stumbling  here,  now  falling  there  outright, 
And  doubts  if  it  be  worse  to  stir  or  stand, 
Not  knowing  what  abysses  yawn  at  hand, 
What  torrents  roar  beyond  some  beetling  height ; 
Yet  scales  the  top  to  find  the  dawn  in  sight, 
And  Earth  kissed  into  radiance  with  its  wand : 
So,  wandering  hopeless  in  the  darkness,  I, 
Scarce  recking  whither  led  my  painful  way, 
Or  whether  I  should  faint  or  strive  to  prove 
If  'yond  the  mountain- top  some  path  might  lie, 
Climbed  boldly  up  the  steep,  and  lo !  the  Day 
Broke  into  pearl  and  splendor  in  thy  love. 


THE  COAST  OF  BOHEMIA 

THERE  is  a  land  not  charted  on  all  charts ; 
Though  many  mariners  have  touched  its  coast, 
Who  far  adventuring  in  those  distant  parts, 
Meet  ship -wreck  there  and  are  forever  lost; 
Or  if  they  e'er  return,  are  soon  once  more 
Borne  far  away  by  hunger  for  that  magic  shore. 

Its  mystic  mountains  on  the  horizon  piled, 
Some  mariners  have  glimpsed  when  driven  far 
Out  of  life's  measured  course  by  tempests  wild, 
Or  lured  therefrom  by  the  erratic  star 
They  chose  as  pilot,  till  their  errant  guide 
Drew  them  resistlessly  within  its  witching  tide. 

For  oft,  they  tell,  who  know  its  sapphire  strand 
The  golden  haze  enfolding  it  hangs  low, 
And  those  who  careless  steer  may  miss  the  land, 
Embosomed  in  the  sunset's  purple  glow, 

5 


OF  BOHEMIA 


Its  lights  mistaken  for  the  evening  stars, 

Its  music  for  the  surf -beat  on  its  golden  bars. 

Young  Jason  found  it  when  he  dauntless  sought 
The  golden  fleece  by  Colchis'  perilous  stream, 
And  in  his  track  full  many  an  argonaut 
Hath  found  the  rare  fleece  of  his  golden  dream, 
And  at  the  last,  Ulysses-like,  surcease 
From  Sorrow's  dole  and  Labor's  heavy  prease. 

One  voyager  charted  it  for  every  age, 
From  azure  rim  to  starry  mountain  core. 
A  nameless  player  on  the  World's  great  stage, 
He  spread  his  sails,  adventured  to  that  shore 
And  reared  a  pharos  with  his  art  sublime, 
Like  Ilion's  song-wrought  towers,   to   beacon  every 
clime. 

The  great  adventurers  reached  it  when  they  brake 
Columbus-led  into  the  unknown  West, 
And  those  who  followed  in  their  shining  wake, 
But  left  no  trace  of  where  their  keels  have  pressed; 
Yet  have  through  stress  of  storm  and  tempests'  rage 
Won  by  his  quenchless  light  a  happy  anchorage. 

6 


THE  COAST  OF  BOHEMIA 

There  rest  the  heroes  of  lost  causes  lorn, 
On  their  calm  brows  more  fadeless  chaplets  far 
Than  all  their  conquerors'  could  e'er  adorn, 
When  shone  effulgent  Fame 's  ascendant  star ; 
There  fallen  patriots  reap  the  glorious  prize 
Of  deathless  memory  of  their  precious  sacrifice. 

There  many  a  dream-faced  maid  and  matron  dwells, 
From  Argive  Helen  on  through  gliding  time; 
There  drink  the  poets  draughts  from  crystal  wells, 
And  choir  high  music  to  their  harps  sublime : 
And  there  the  great  philosophers  discourse 
Divine  Philosophy  in  due  and  tranquil  course. 

There  not  alone  the  great  and  lofty  sing; 
But  silent  poets  too  find  there  the  song 
They  only  sang  in  dreams  when  wandering 
Amazed  and  lost  amid  the  earthly  throng ; 
Their  hearts  unfettered  all  from  worldly  fears. 
Attuned  to  meet  the  spacious  music  of  the  spheres : 

Gray,  wrinkled  men,  the  sea-salt  in  their  hair, 

Their  eyes  set  deep  with  peering  through  the  gloom, 

Their  voices  low  with  speaking  ever,  where 

7 


THE  COAST  OF  BOHEMIA 

The  surges  break  beneath  the  mountains'  loom; 
But  deep  within  their  yearning,  burning  eyes 
The  light  reflected  ever  from  those  radiant  skies. 

There  fadeless  Youth,  unknowing  of  annoy, 
Walks  aye  with  changeless  Love ;  and  Sorrow  there 
Is  but  a  memory  to  hallow  Joy, 
With  chastened  Happiness  so  deep  and  rare, 
Well-nigh  the  Heart  aches  with  its  rich  content, 
And  Hope  with  full  fruition  evermore  is  blent. 

Constant  Penelope,  her  web  complete, 

Rests  there  content  at  last  and  smiling  down 

On  worn  Ulysses  basking  at  her  feet; 

Calm  Beatrice  wears  joyously  the  crown 

Bestowed  by  exiled  Dante  in  his  grief, 

And  Laura,  kind,  gives  Petrarch's  tuneful  heart  relief. 

'Mid  bloomy  meadows  laved  by  limpid  streams, 
Repose  the  Muses  and  the  Graces  sweet; 
There  kiss  we  lips  we  only  kissed  in  dreams 
Meshed  in  the  grosser  world ;  and  there  we  meet 
The  fair  and  flower-like  lost  loves  of  our  Youth, 
When  unafraid  we  trod  the  ways  with  radiant  Truth. 

8 


THE  COAST  OF  BOHEMIA 

Those  who  return  have  pressed  alone  the  coast ; 

But  tell  of  some  lost  in  that  charmed  strond : 

Aspiring  souls  who  loving  Honor  most, 

Have  sought  the  crystal  mountain-tops  beyond, 

And  striven  upward,  heedless  of  their  scars, 

To  where  all  paths  lead  ever  to  the  shining  stars. 


9 


T 


THE  VOICE  OF  THE  SEA 

HITS  spake  to  Man  the  thousand-throated  Sea; 
Words  which  the  stealing  winds  caught  from 
its  lips: 


Thou  thinkest  thee  and  thine,  God's  topmost  crown. 
But  hearken  unto  me  and  humbly  learn 
How  infinite  thine   insignificance. 
Thou  boastest  of  thine  age — thy  works — thyself: 
Thine  oldest  monuments  of  which  thou  prat'st 
Were  built  but  yesterday  when  measured  by 
Yon  snow-domed  mountains  of  eternal  rock: 
The  Earth,  thy  mother,  from  whose  breast  thou 

draw  'st, 

The  sweat-stained  living  which  she  wills  to  give, 
And  in  whose  dust  thine  own  must  melt  again, 
Was  aged  cycles  ere  thine  earliest  dawn;— 
But  they  to  me  are  young :  I  gave  them  birth. 

10 


THE  VOICE  OF  THE  SEA 

Climb  up  those  heaven-tipt  peaks  thy  dizziest  height, 

Thou  there  shalt  read,  graved  deep,  my  name  and  age ; 

Dig  down  thy  deepest  depth,  shalt  read  them  still. 

Before  the  mountains  sprang,  before  the  Earth, 

Thy  cradle  and  thy  tomb,  was  made,  I  was: 

God  called  them  forth  from  me,  as  thee  from  Earth. 

Thou  burrow  'st  through  a  mountain,  here  and  there, 

Work'st  all  thine  engines,  cutting  off  a  speck; 

I  wash  their  rock-foundations  under;  tear 

Turret  from  turret,  toppling  thundering  down, 

And  crush  their  mightiest  fragments  into  sand: 

Thou  gravest  with  thy  records  slab  and  spar, 

And  callest  them  memorials  of  thy  Might ; — 

Lo !  not  a  stone  exists,  from  yon  black  cliff 

To  that  small  pebble  at  thy  foot,  but  bears 

My  signature  graved  there  when  Earth  was  young, 

To  teach  the  mighty  wonders  of  the  Deep. 

Thy  deeds — thyself— are  what?    A  morning  mist! 

But  I !    I  face  the  ages.    Dost  not  know 

That  as  I  gave  the  Earth  to  spread  her  fair 

And  dew-washed  body  in  the  morning  light, 

So,  still,  't  is  I  that  keep  her  fair  and  fresh? — 

That  weave  her  robes  and  nightly  diamond  them? 

I  fill  her  odorous  bowers  with  perfumes  rare; 

11 


THE  VOICE  OF  THE  SEA 

Strew  field  and  forest  with  bee-haunted  stars ; 
I  give  the  Morn  pearl  for  her  radiant  roof, 
And  Eve  lend  glory  for  her  rosy  dome ; 
I  build  the  purple  towers  that  hold  the  West 
And  guard  the  passage  of  Retiring  Day. 
Thy  frailest  fabric  far  outlasts  thyself: 
The  pyramids  rise  from  the  desert  sands, 
Their  builders  blown  in  dust  about  their  feet. 
The  winged  bull  looms  mid  an  alien  race, 
Grim,  silent,  lone.    But  whither  went  the  King  ? 
I  cool  the  lambent  air  upon  my  breast, 
And  send  the  winds  forth  on  mine  embassies ; 
I  offer  all  my  body  to  the  Sun, 
And  lade  our  caravans  with  merchandise, 
To  carry  wealth  and  plenty  to  all  climes. 
Yon  fleecy  continents  of  floating  snow, 
That  dwarf  the  mountains  over  which  they  sail, 
Are  but  my  bales  borne  by  my  messengers, 
To  cheer  and  gladden  every  thirsty  land. 
The  Arab  by  his  palm-girt  desert  pool, 
The  Laplander  above  his  frozen  rill, 
The  Woodsman  crouched  beside  his  forest  brook, 
The  shepherd  mirrored  in  his  upland  spring, 
Drink  of  my  cup  in  one  great  brotherhood. 
12 


THE  VOICE  OF  THE  SEA 

'T  is,  nay,  not  man  alone— thou  art  but  one 
Of  all  the  myriads  of  life-holding  things, — 
Brute,  beast,  bird,  reptile,  insect,  thing  unnamed, 
Whose  souls  find  recreation  in  my  breath: 
Nay,  not  a  tree,  flower,  sprig  of  grass  or  weed, 
But  lives  through  me  and  hymns  my  praise  to  God 
I  feed,  sustain,  refresh  and  keep  them  all : 
Mirror  and  type  of  God  that  giveth  life. 
I  sing  as  softly  as  a  mother  croons 
Her  drowsy  babe  to  sleep  upon  her  breast. 
On  quiet  nights  when  all  my  winds  are  laid, 
I  wile  the  stars  down  from  their  azure  home 
To  sink  with  golden  footprints  in  my  depths : 
I  show  the  silvered  pathway  to  the  moon, 
All  paved  with  gems  the  errant  Pleiad  lost, 
That  night  she  strayed  from  her  sisters  wan; 
But  I  sing  other  times  strains  from  that  song 
Before  whose  awfulness  my  waters  sank, 
And  at  whose  harmony  the  mountains  rose, 
I  heard  that  morning  when  the  breath  of  God 
Moved  on  my  face,  and  said,  Let  there  be  light ! 
I  thrill  and  tremble  since  but  at  the  thought 
Of  that  great  wonder  of  that  greatest  dawn, 
When  at  God's  word  the  brooding  darkness  rose, 

13 


THE  VOICE  OF  THE  SEA 

Which  veiled  my  face  from  all  the  birth  of  things 
And  rolled  far  frighted  from  its  resting-place, 
To  bide  henceforth  beyond  Day's  crystal  walls, 
While  all  the  morning  stars  together  sang, 
And  on  the  instant  God  stood  full  revealed! 


14 


LONG  ROLL  AT  NAPOLEON'S  TOMB 

'FT1  WAS  the  marble  crypt  where  the  Emperor  lay, 
-JL    His  mighty  marshals  on  either  side, 
Guarding  his  couch  since  the  solemn  day 
France  brought  him  home  in  her  chastened  pride, 
To  sleep  on  her  heart,  from  the  sea-girt  cage 
Where  the  Eagle  pined  and  died  in  his  rage. 

I  thought  of  the  long,  red  carnival 
Death  held  in  the  track  of  his  sword,  amain, 
From  Toulon's  bloom  to  the  crimsoned  pall 
He  spread  upon  Waterloo's  ripened  grain; 
I  thought  of  the  long  black  years  of  dread 
When  the  nations  quaked  at  his  armies'  tread. 

A-sudden  above  as  the  twilight  fell 

The  deathly  silence  around  was  shocked 

By  the  roll  of  a  drum.    At  the  throbbing  swell 

The  vaulted  dome  of  the  Heavens  rocked, 

Till  it  seemed  that  the  mighty  conqueror's  soul 

Was  shaking  the  earth  in  that  drum's  long  roll. 

15 


LONG  EOLL  AT  NAPOLEON'S  TOMB 

In  the  purple  glooming  the  spell  was  wrought; 
And  forth  from  their  tomb  the  legions  sprang: 
A  Cadmus-brood  of  a  Master's  thought; 
The  long-roll  beat  and  the  bugles  sang ; 
The  tattered  standards  again  unfurled, 
And  Napoleon  once  more  bestrid  the  world. 

I  heard  that  instant  the  self-same  drum 

Which  beat  at  his  call  when  France  arose 

From  her  ashes  and  blood  when  he  bade  her  come 

In  Liberty's  name  to  face  her  foes; 

I  saw  her  invincible  armies  arise, 

The  light  of  Liberty  in  their  eyes. 

O'er  Tyranny's  pyre  her  standards  flew; 

I  felt  the  thrill  of  the  new-born  life : 

As  cleansed  from  Terror,  France  the  true, 

Sprang  forth  rejoicing  amid  the  strife, 

As  a  woman  rejoiceth  travail-torn 

At  the  living  voice  of  her  own  first-born. 

From  the  ruddy  morning  on  Egypt's  sands, 
When  her  eagles  rose  in  their  terrible  flight 
To  stretch  their  shadow  across  the  lands 
Till  it  perished  in  Russia's  frozen  night, 
16 


LONG  KOLL  AT  NAPOLEON'S  TOMB 

When  th'  insatiable  conqueror's  reckoning  came 
And  his  Empire  melted  away  in  flame : 

When  there  at  Moscow  the  Lord  God  spoke 
And  said,  ' '  Thine  end  is  at  hand :  prepare, ' ' 
As  at  Kadesh  once,  from  amid  the  smoke, 
To  the  prophet  who  led  His  People  there ; 
"I  set  thee  up,  I  will  cast  thee  down, 
For  that  thou  claimedst  thyself  the  crown. 

' '  Thine  eyes  have  seen ;  but  thou  shalt  not  stand 
On  the  promised  shore  of  a  world  set  free ; 
The  People  shall  pass  alone  to  the  Land 
Of  Promise  and  Light  and  Liberty: 
Of  Peace  enthroned  in  a  Nation's  trust, 
When  thou  and  thy  throne  alike  are  dust." 


17 


THE  PRINCESS'  PROGRESS 

ACROSS  the  dusky  land 
-£~^-  The  Gracious  Goddess,  Spring, 
In  vernal  robes  arrayed, 
Last  night  her  royal  progress  made, 
Scattering  with  lavish  hand 
Her  fragrant  blossoming. 
Along  the  wold, 
In  spendthrift  glee, 
She  strewed  her  gold 
And  gilded  all  the  lea. 
The  dandelions'  yellow  coin 
Lie  scattered  in  the  tangled  grass, 
And  buttercup  and  crocus  join 
To  tell  the  way  she  chose  to  pass. 
In  lavish  wealth  the  gleaming  daffodil 
Shines  on  the  cloudy  April  hill, 
And  many  a  yellow  marigold 
Marks  where  her  brazen  chariot  rolled; 
The  slender-necked  narcissus  bends 
18 


THE  PRINCESS '  PROGRESS 

His  dewy  head,  and  leaning  down, 

Looks  deep  to  find  within  a  dew-drop's  lens 

A  mirrowing  pool  where  Love  may  drown. 

No  cranny  deep  nor  nook 

But  felt  her  tender  look ; 

No  secret  leafy  place 

But  warmed  before  her  face 

And  blossomed  with  her  grace. 

The  woodland,  sombre  yesterday, 

Hath  in  her  presence  donned  a  brave  array, 

And  in  a  night  grown  gay. 

Her  purple  cloak,  all  careless  flung, 

Upon  the  red-bud  hung; 

And  on  the  forest  trees, 

Her  richest  laceries. 

While  sprinkled  deep  with  dust  of  gold 

The  tender,  flowery  branches  hold 

Her  verdant  robe  blown  fold  on  fold. 

Her  queenly  figure  clad 

In  broidered  raiment  glad, 

Complete  and  passing  sweet, 

Hath  set  the  sylvan  zephyrs  mad. 

About  her  breathed  rare  odors  sweet, 

Of  roses  blowing  neath  her  feet: 

19 


THE  PRINCESS7  PROGRESS 

About  her  breathed  sweet  odors  rare, 

Of  violets  shaken  from  her  hair, 

As  though  unseen  of  mortal  eyes, 

She  'd  jarred  the  gates  of  Paradise. 

Her  crystal  horn  in  passing  by  she  wound, 

And  at  the  witching  sound, 

As  by  the  enchanter's  stroke, 

The  fields  in  music  broke, 

And  every  silent  grove  in  melody  awoke. 

Responsive  to  her  charmed  lyre 

The  dewy-throated  choir 

Carol  in  every  brake  and  brier, 

And  flood  with  golden  song 

The  verdant  reaches  ranged  along— 

Where  drinking  deep  from  fountains  clear 

Their  inspiration, 

They  hymn  their  jubiliation 

That  Spring  again  is  here ; 

And  all  together  sing 

The  Goddess  of  the  Year, 

The  Spring :  the  gracious  Spring. 


20 


YOUTH 

I  ONCE  might  hear  the  fairies  sing 
Upon  the  feathery  grass  a-swing, 
Or  in  the  orchard's  blossoming: 
Their  melody  so  fine  and  clear, 
One  had  to  bend  his  ear  to  hear, 
Or  else  the  music  well  might  pass 
For  zephyrs  whispering  in  the  grass. 

I  once  might  see  the  fairies  dance 

A-circle  in  their  meadow-haunts, 

Soft-tapered  by  the  new-moon's  glance: 

Their  airy  feet  in  crystal  shoon 

Made  twinklings  neath  the  silver  moon. 

Such  witchery,  but  that  't  was  seen, 

Might  well  have  been  the  dew-drops'  sheen. 

I  've  wandered  far  yond  summer  seas, 

Where  Music  dwells  mid  harmonies 

That  well  the  Seraphim  might  please ; 

But  never  more  I  catch,  ah  me ! 

The  fairies'  silvery  melody — 

Their  crystal  twinkling  on  the  moonlit  lea. 


21 


AMERICA:  GREETING 

I  HAVE  journeyed  the  spacious  world  over, 
And  here  to  thy  sapphire  wide  gate, 
America,  I,  thy  True  Lover 
Return  now,  exalted,  elate, 
As  an  heir  who  returns  to  recover 
His  forefathers'  lofty  estate. 

I  Ve  seen  visions  of  castle  and  palace 

Up-soaring  to  sun-flooded  skies, 

Where  men  have  drunk  deep  of  Death's  chalice, 

In  infinite  soul-agonies — 

Where  Tyranny  glutted  her  malice 

And  battened  on  Liberty's  cries. 

Where  splendor  of  palace  and  tower 
Cried  up  unto  God  with  men's  blood; 
Where  th'  emblems  of  Tyranny's  Power 

22 


AMERICA:  GREETING 

Imperial  and  brazen  have  stood, 

With  faggot  and  sword  to  devour, 

And  the  rack  scowling  hard  by  God's  Rood. 

And  now  at  thy  fair,  open  portal, 

I  stand  as  I  stood  in  my  Youth, 

Amazed  at  the  vision  immortal 

Of  naked  and  unashamed  Truth : 

The  Truth  that  the  Fathers  have  taught  all 

Their  children:  their  birth-right  in  sooth. 

I  greet  thee :  thy  purple,  large  reaches, — 
From  the  snow-mantled,  spire-pointed  pine, 
To  thy  golden,  long,  low-lying  beaches, 
Awash  with  thy  tropical  brine, 
And  thine  infinite  bosom  that  teaches 
How  God  hath  made  Freedom  divine. 

God  dowered  thee  fair  mid  the  Oceans: 
He  bulwarked  thee  strong  with  the  seas, 
That  Man  might  preserve  here  the  motions 
He  gave  Freedom 's  bold  processes : 
That  Man  in  his  loftiest  devotions 
Might  serve  Freedom's  altars  in  Peace. 
23 


AMERICA:  GREETING 

How  crude  then  and  rude  then  soever 
Thy  struggles  to  lift  from  the  sod, 
Thy  Freedom  is  strong  to  dissever 
The  Shackles,  the  Yoke,  and  the  Rod; 
Thy  Freedom  is  Mighty  forever, 
For  men  who  kneel  only  to  God. 


24 


DAWN 

WHO  hath  not  heard  in  dusky  summer  dawns, 
Ere  winds  Aurora's  horn,  the  dreamy  spell 
Just  rippled  by  some  drowsy  sentinel. 
Who  from  his  leafy  outpost  on  the  lawns 
Chimes  sleepily  his  call  that  all  is  well? 
A  moment— pipes  another  silvery  note : 
Aurora's  crystal  wheels  flash  up  the  sky ; 
The  sentries  cry  the  Dawn  and  joyously 
Glad  Welcome  peals  from  every  dewy  throat, 
And  every  leafy  bough  chimes  melody. 

So,  in  the  gloom  and  silence  of  the  night, 
My  heart  in  slumber  steeped,  unheeding  lay, 
Not  recking  how  the  hours  might  fleet  away ; 
When  on  my  Heavens  dawned  a  radiant  light, 
And  straight  I  wakened  to  a  shining  day. 


THE  POET  ON  AGKADINA 

rilHE  spacious  cities  hummed  with  toil: 
-*-    The  monarch  reared  his  towers  to  the  skies; 
Men  delved  the  fruitful  soil 
And  studied  to  be  wise; 
Along  the  highway's  rocky  coil 
The  mailed  legions  rang; 
Smiling  unheeded  'mid  the  moil, 
The  Poet  sang. 

The  glittering  cities  long  are  heaps : 
The  starry  towers  lie  level  with  the  plain; 
The  desert  serpent  sleeps 
"Where  soared  the  marble  fane ; 
The  stealthy,  bead-eyed  lizard  creeps 
Where  gleamed  the  tyrant's  throne; 
The  grandeur  dark  oblivion  steeps : 
The  song  sings  on. 


26 


THE  SHEPHERD  OF  THE  SEAS 

FROM  Raleigh's  Devon  hills  the  misty  sea 
Climbs  ever  westward  till  it  meets  the  sky, 
And  silently  the  white-fleeced  ships  go  by, 
And  mount  and  mount  up  the  long  azure  lea, 
Peaceful  as  sheep  at  night  that  placidly 
Climb  the  tall  downs  to  quiet  pastures  high, 
Assured  no  foes  dare  lurk,  no  dangers  lie 
Where  still  abides  their  shepherd's  memory. 
Well  did  men  name  him  '  *  Shepherd  of  the  Seas, ' 
Who  knew  so  well  his  shepherd's  watch  to  keep, 
Driving  the  Spanish  wolves  with  noble  rage : 
Forsaking  Pomp  and  Power  and  Beds-of-ease 
To  herd  his  mighty  flock  through  every  Deep 
And  make  of  every  sea  their  common  pasturage. 


27 


SLEEP 

IN  MEMOKIAM  :  A.  B.  P. 

THOU  best  of  all:  God's  choicest  blessing,  Sleep; 
Better  than  Earth  can  offer— Wealth,  Power, 
Fame: 

They  change,  decay ;  thou  always  art  the  same ; 
Through  all  the  years  thy  freshness  thou  dost  keep ; 
Over  all  lands  thine  even  pinions  sweep. 

The  sick,  the  worn,  the  blind,  the  lone,  the  lame, 

Hearing  thy  tranquil  footsteps,  bless  thy  name ; 
Anguish  is  soothed,  Sorrow  forgets  to  weep. 
Thou  ope'st  the  captive's  cell  and  bid'st  him  roam; 

Thou  giv'st  the  hunted  refuge,  free'st  the  slave, 

Show'st  the  outcast  pity,  call'st  the  exile  home; 
Beggar  and  king  thine  equal  blessings  reap. 

We  for  our  loved  ones  Wealth,  Joy,  Honors  crave ; 

But  God,  He  giveth  his  beloved— Sleep. 


28 


TO  A  LADY  AT  A  SPRING 

E>NG  aeons  since,  in  leafy  woodlands  sweet, 
Diana,  weary  with  the  eager  chase, 

Was  wont  to  seek  full  oft  some  trysting- place 
Loved  of  her  rosy  train ;  some  cool  retreat 
Of  crystal  springs,  deep-verdured  from  the  heat 

Of  sultry  noon,  wherein  each  subtle  grace 

Of  snowy  form  and  radiant  flower-face, 
Narcissus-like,  goddess  and  nymph  might  greet. 
Diana  long  hath  fleeted  'yond  the  main ; 

The  founts  which  erst  she  loved  are  all  bereft ; 

No  more  'mid  violet-banks  her  feet  are  set; 
Silent  her  silvern  bugle,  fled  her  train ; 

One  spot  alone  of  all  she  loved  is  left : 

This  poplar-shaded  spring  is  Goddess-haunted  yet. 


29 


UNFORGOTTEN 

OH !  do  not  think  that  thee  I  can  forget : 
Though  all  the  Centuries  should  o'er  me  roll— 
Though  Space  should  spread  more  far  than  Pole  from 

Pole, 

Or  star  from  furthest  star  betwixt  us ;  yet, 
I  still  would  hold  thee  in  my  heart's  core  set: 
More  rare  than  rarest  Queens  whom  Kings  extol 
When  Death  hath  throned  them  high  above  regret. 
Through  endless  Time  when  Memory  the  stone 
Rolls  back  from  silent  years  long  sepulchred, 
To  call  the  Past  forth  from  the  sullen  tomb, 
Howe'er  far  'yond  her  voice  all  else  hath  flown, 
Shalt  thou  appear— her  living  summons  heard — 
Fresh  as  Eternal  Spring  in  all  thy  radiant  bloom. 


30 


~  . 


THE  OLD  LION 

"THE  WHELPS  OF  THE  LION  ANSWER  HIM" 

THE  Old  Lion  stood  in  his  lonely  lair : 
The  sound  of  the  hunting  had  broken  his  rest : 
He  scowled  to  the  Eastward :  Tiger  and  Bear 
Were  harrying  his  Jungle.     He  turned  to  the  west; 
And  sent  through  the  murk  and  mist  of  the  night 
A  thunder  that  rumbled  and  rolled  down  the  trail; 
And  Tiger  and  Bear,  the  Quarry  in  sight, 
Crouched  low  in  the  covert  to  cower  and  quail ; 
For  deep  through  the  midnight  like  surf  on  a  shore, 
Pealed  Thunder  in  answer  resounding  with  ire. 
The  Hunters  turn'd  stricken:  they  knew  the  dread 

roar: 
The  Whelp  of  the  Lion  was  joining  his  Sire. 


31 


THE  DRAGON  OF  THE  SEAS 

APRIL,  1898 

FT1HEY  say  the  Spanish  ships  are  out 
J-    To  seize  the  Spanish  Main; 
Reach  down  the  volume,  Boy,  and  read 
The  story  o'er  again: 

How  when  the  Spaniard  had  the  might, 
He  drenched  the  Earth,  like  rain, 
With  Saxon  blood  and  made  it  Death 
To  sail  the  Spanish  Main. 

With  torch  and  steel;  with  stake  and  rack 
He  trampled  out  God's  Truce 
Until  Queen  Bess  her  leashes  slip't 
And  let  her  sea-dogs  loose. 

God !  how  they  sprang  and  how  they  tore ! 
The  Gilberts,  Hawkins,  Drake ! 
Remember,  Boy,  they  were  your  sires: 
They  made  the  Spaniard  quake. 

32 


THE  DRAGON  OF  THE  SEAS 

Dick  Grenville  with  a  single  ship 
Struck  all  the  Spanish  line : 
One  Devon  knight  to  the  Spanish  Dons : 
One  ship  to  fifty  and  nine. 

When  Spain  in  San  Ulloa's  Bay 

Her  sacred  treaty  broke, 

Stout  Hawkins  fought  his  way  through  fire 

And  gave  her  stroke  for  stroke. 

A  bitter  malt  Spain  brewed  that  day, 
She  drained  it  to  the  lees: 
The  thunder  of  her  guns  awoke 
The  Dragon  of  The  Seas. 

From  coast  to  coast  he  ravaged  far, 
A  scourge  with  flaming  breath: 
Where'er  the  Spaniard  sailed  his  ships, 
Sailed  Francis  Drake  and  Death. 

No  coast  was  safe  against  his  ire ; 
Secure  no  furthest  shore; 
The  fairest  day  oft  sank  in  fire 
Before  the  Dragon's  roar. 
33 


THE  DRAGON  OF  THE  SEAS 

He  made  th'  Atlantic  surges  red 
Bound  every  Spanish  keel, 
Piled  Spanish  decks  with  Spanish  dead, 
The  noblest  of  Castile. 

From  Del  Fuego  's  beetling  coast 
To  sleety  Hebrides 
He  hounded  down  the  Spanish  host 
And  swept  the  flaming  seas. 

He  fought  till  on  Spam's  inmost  lakes 
'Mid  Orange  bowers  set, 
La  Mancha's  maidens  feared  to  sail 
Lest  they  the  Dragon  met.* 

King  Philip,  of  his  ravin'  reft, 

Called  for  "the  Pirate's"  head; 

The  great  Queen  laughed  his  wrath  to  scorn 

And  knighted  Drake  instead. 

And  gave  him  ships  and  sent  him  forth 
To  sweep  the  Spanish  Main, 


*Note.  It  is  related  that  King  Philip  one  day  invited 
a  lady  to  sail  with  him  on  a  lake,  and  she  replied 
that  she  was  afraid  they  might  meet  "  the  Dragon." 

34 


THE  DRAGON  OF  THE  SEAS 

For  England  and  for  England's  brood, 
And  sink  the  fleets  of  Spain. 

And  well  he  wrought  his  mighty  work, 
Till  on  that  fatal  day 
He  met  his  only  conqueror, 
In  Nombre  Dios  Bay. 

There  in  his  shotted  hammock  swung 
Amid  the  surges'  sweep, 
He  waits  the  look-out's  signal  cry 
Across  the  quiet  deep, 

And  dreams  of  dark  Ulloa's  bar, 
And  Spanish  treachery, 
And  how  he  tracked  Magellan  far 
Across  the  unknown  sea. 

But  if  Spain  fire  a  single  shot 
Upon  the  Spanish  Main, 
She  '11  come  to  deem  the  Dragon  dead 
Has  waked  to  life  again. 


35 


THE  BENT  MONK 

EVER  along  the  way  he  goes, 
With  eyes  cast  down  as  in  despair, 
And  shoulders  stooped  with  weight  of  woes 
And  lips  from  which  unceasing  flows 
An  agonized  prayer. 

His  form  is  bent ;  his  step  is  slow ; 

His  hands  with  fasting  long  are  thin; 
And  wheresoever  his  footsteps  go, 
Men  hear  his  muttered  prayer  and  know 

He  weeps  for  deadly  sin. 

This  monk  was  once  the  knightliest 
Of  knights  who  ever  sat  in  hall: 

With  wondrous  might  and  beauty  blest; 

And  whoso  met  him  lance-in-rest 
Had  need  on  Christ  to  call. 
36 


THE  BENT  MONK 

Men  say  this  monk  with  hair  so  hoar, 

And  eye  where  grief  hath  quenched  the  flame, 
Once  loved  a  maiden  fair  and  pure, 
And  for  she  would  not  wed  him  swore 
He  'd  bring  her  down  to  Shame. 

They  say  he  wooed  her  long  and  well; 

And  splendid  spoils  both  eve  and  morn 
Of  song  and  tourney  won,  they  tell, 
He  gave  her  till  at  last  she  fell, 

Then  drave  her  forth  with  scorn. 

The  world  was  cold;  her  father's  door 
Was  barred — they  thus  the  tale  repeat — 

Her  name  was  heard  in  jousts  no  more; 

And  so,  one  day  the  river  bore 
And  laid  her  at  his  feet. 

Her  brow  was  calm,  the  sunny  hair 
Lay  tangled  in  the  snowy  breast, 
And  from  the  face  all  trace  of  care 
And  sin  was  cleansed  away,  and  there 
Shone  only  utter  rest. 

37 


THE  BENT  MONK 

The  old  men  say  that  when  the  wave 
That  burden  brought,  then  backward  fled, 

He  stooped,  no  sign  nor  groan  he  gave, 

As  mourners  by  an  open  grave; 
But  fell  as  one  struck  dead. 

He  seemed,  when  from  that  swound  he  woke, 

A  man  already  touched  by  Death, 
As  when  the  stalwart  forest  oak, 
Blasted  beneath  the  lightning's  stroke 
Lives  on,  yet  languisheth. 

And  ever  since  he  tells  his  beads, 
And  sackcloth  lieth  next  his  skin, 

And  nightly  his  frail  body  bleeds 

With  knotted  cord  that  intercedes 
With  Christ  for  deadly  sin. 

For  his  own  soul  he  hath  no  care, 
By  penance  purged  as  if  by  flame: 

Men  know  that  agonized  prayer 

He  prays  is  for  the  maiden  fair 
Whom  he  brought  down  to  Shame. 

38 


THE  BENT  MONK 

And  still  along  the  way  he  goes, 

With  eyes  cast  down  as  in  despair, 
And  shoulders  stooped  with  weight  of  woes, 
And  lips  from  which  forever  flows 
An  agonized  prayer. 


39 


THE  MESSAGE 

AN  ancient  tome  came  to  my  hands : 
-£^~  A  tale  of  love  in  other  lands : 
Writ  by  a  Master  so  divine, 
The  Love  seems  ever  mine  and  thine. 
The  volume  opened  at  the  place 
That  sings  of  sweet  Francesca  's  grace : 
How  reading  of  Fair  Guinevere 
And  Launcelot  that  long  gone  year, 
Her  eyes  into  her  lover's  fell 
And— there  was  nothing  more  to  tell. 
That  day  they  op  'ed  that  book  no  more 
Thenceforth  they  read  a  deeper  lore. 

Beneath  the  passage  so  divine, 
Some  woman 's  hand  had  traced  a  line, 
And  reverently  upon  the  spot 
Had  laid  a  blue  forget-me-not: 
A  message  sent  across  the  years, 
Of  Lovers'  sighs  and  Lovers'  tears: 
A  messenger  left  there  to  tell 
They  too  had  loved  each  other  well. 
40 


THE  MESSAGE 

The  centuries  had  glided  by 
Since  Love  had  heaved  that  tender  sigh; 
The  tiny  spray  that  spoke  her  trust, 
Had  like  herself  long  turned  to  dust. 

I  felt  a  sudden  sorrow  stir 
My  heart  across  the  years  for  her, 
Who,  reading  how  Francesca  loved, 
Had  found  her  heart  so  deeply  moved: 
Who,  hearing  poor  Francesca 's  moan, 
Had  felt  her  sorrow  as  her  own. 
I  hope  where  e'er  her  grave  may  be, 
Forget-me-nots  bloom  constantly: 
That  somewhere  in  yon  distant  skies 
He  who  is  Love  hath  heard  her  sighs : 
And  her  hath  granted  of  His  Grace, 
Ever  to  see  her  Lover's  face. 


41 


THE  NEEDLE'S  EYE 

rilHEY  bade  me  come  to  the  House  of  Prayer, 
-•-     They  said  I  should  find  my  Saviour  there : 
I  was  wicked  enough,  God  wot,  at  best, 
And  weary  enough  to  covet  rest. 

I  paused  at  th'  door  with  a  timid  knock: 
The  People  within  were  a  silken  flock — 
By  their  scowls  of  pride  it  was  plain  to  see 
Salvation  was  not  for  the  likes  of  me. 

The  Bishop  was  there  in  his  lace  and  lawn, 
And  the  cassocked  priest,— I  saw  him  yawn, — 
The  rich  and  great  and  virtuous  too, 
Stood  smug  and  contented  each  in  his  pew. 

The  music  was  grand,— the  service  fine, 
The  sermon  was  eloquent, — nigh  divine. 
The  subject  was,  Pride  and  the  Pharisee, 
And  the  Publican,  who  was  just  like  me. 

42 


THE  NEEDLE'S  EYE 

I  smote  my  breast  in  an  empty  pew, 

But  an  usher  came  and  looked  me  through 

And  bade  me  stand  beside  the  door 

In  the  space  reserved  for  the  mean  and  poor. 

I  left  the  church  in  my  rags  and  shame  : 
In  the  dark  without,  One  called  my  name. 
They  have  turned  me  out  as  well, ' '  quoth  He, 
:  Take  thou  my  hand  and  come  fare  with  me. 

:We  may  find  the  light  by  a  narrow  gate, 
The  way  is  steep  and  rough  and  strait ; 
But  none  will  look  if  your  clothes  be  poor, 
When  you  come  at  last  to  my  Father's  door." 

I  struggled  on  where  'er  He  led : 
The  blood  ran  down  from  His  hand  so  red ! 
The  blood  ran  down  from  His  forehead  torn. 
:  'Tis  naught,"  quoth  He,  "but  the  prick  of  a 
thorn!" 

;You  bleed,"  I  cried,  for  my  heart  'gan  quail. 
1  'Tis  naught,  'tis  naught  but  the  print  of  a  nail. ' ' 
;You  limp  in  pain  and  your  feet  are  sore." 
Yea,  yea, ' '  quoth  He, ' '  for  the  nails  they  were  four. ' ' 

43 


THE  NEEDLE'S  EYE 

' l  You  are  weary  and  faint  and  bent, ' '  I  cried. 
' '  'Twas  a  load  I  bore  up  a  mountain  side. ' ' 
1 1  The  way  is  steep,  and  I  faint. ' '  But  He : 
"It  was  steeper  far  upon  Calvary." 

By  this  we  had  come  to  a  narrow  door, 
I  had  spied  afar.    It  was  locked  before ; 
But  now  in  the  presence  of  my  Guide, 
The  fast-closed  postern  opened  wide. 

And  forth  there  streamed  a  radiance 
More  bright  than  is  the  noon-sun 's  glance ; 
And  harps  and  voices  greeted  Him — 
The  music  of  the  Seraphim. 

I  knew  His  face  where  the  light  did  fall : 
I  had  spat  in  it,  in  Herod's  Hall, 
I  knew  those  nail-prints  now,  ah,  me! — 
I  had  helped  to  nail  Him  to  a  tree. 

I  fainting  fell  before  His  face, 
Imploring  pardon  of  His  grace. 
He  stooped  and  silencing  my  moan, 
He  bore  me  near  to  His  Father's  throne. 
44 


THE  NEEDLE'S  EYE 

He  wrapt  me  close  and  hid  my  shame, 
And  touched  my  heart  with  a  cleansing  flame. 
"Rest  here,"  said  He,  "while  I  go  and  try 
To  widen  a  little  a  Needle's  Eye." 


45 


THE  CLOSED  DOOR 

E>RD,  is  it  Thou  who  knockest  at  my  door  ? 
I  made  it  fast  and  't  will  not  open  more ; 
Barred  it  so  tight  I  scarce  can  hear  Thy  knock, 
And  am  too  feeble  now  to  turn  the  lock, 
Clogged  with  my  folly  and  my  grievous  sin : 
Put  forth  Thy  might,  0  Lord,  and  burst  it  in. 


46 


CONVENTION 

AT  the  Judgment-bar  stood  spirits  three: 
-f-»-  A  thief,  a  fool  and  a  man  of  degree, 
To  whom  spake  the  Judge  in  his  Majesty . 

To  the  shivering  thief:  "Thy  sins  are  forgiven, 
For  that  to  repent  thou  hast  sometime  striven ; 
There  be  other  penitent  thieves  in  Heaven." 

To  the  fool:  "Poor  fool,  thou  art  free  from  sin; 

To  My  light  thou,  too,  mayest  enter  in, 

Where  Life  and  Thought  shall  for  thee  begin." 

To  the  mirror  of  others,  smug  and  neat, 
With  the  thoughts  and  sayings  of  others  replete, 
This  Judgment  rolled  from  the  Judgment-seat : 

'Remain  thou  thyself,  a  worm  to  crawl. 
Thou,  doubly  damned,  canst  not  lower  fall 
Than  ne'er  to  have  thought  for  thyself  at  all." 


47 


THE  MAGDALEN 

SHE  flaunted  recklessly  along, 
With  hollow  laugh  and  mocking  song; 

In  tawdry  garb  and  painted  mirth, 
The  sorrowfulest  thing  on  earth. 

Time  runs  apace :  the  fleeting  years 
Left  but  her  misery  and  her  tears. 

The  very  brothel-door  was  barred 
Against  a  wretch  so  crook 'd  and  marred. 

She  knocked  at  every  gate  in  vain, 
The  cast-out  harlot  black  with  stain— 

At  all  save  one, — when  this  she  tried, — 
'T  was  His,  the  High  Priest  crucified. 

He  heard  her  tears,  flung  wide  His  door 
And  said,  ' '  Come  in,  and  sin  no  more. ' ' 


48 


THE  REQUIREMENT 

TO  the  Steward  of  his  vineyard  spake  the  Lord, 
When  he  handed  him  over  His  Keys  and  Sword : 
"See  that  you  harken  unto  my  word: 

"There  be  three  chief  things  that  I  love,"  quoth  He, 
* '  That  bear  a  sweet  savor  up  to  me : 
They  be  Justice,  Mercy  and  Purity.'7 

Justice  was  sold  at  a  thief's  behest; 

Purity  went  for  a  harlot's  jest, 

And  Mercy  was  slain  with  a  sword  in  her  breast. 


49 


THE  LISTENER 

A  SPARROW  sang  on  a  weed, 
Sprung  from  an  upturned  sod, 
And  no  one  gave  him  heed 
Or  heard  the  song,  save  God. 


CONTRADICTION 

A  BISHOP  preached  Sunday  on  Dives  forsaken 
How  he  was  cast  out  and  Lazarus  taken ; 
The  very  next  day  he  rejoiced  he  was  able 
To  dine  that  evening  at  Dives'  table. 
While  wretched  Lazarus,  sick  and  poor, 
Was  called  an  impostor  and  turned  from  the  door. 


50 


THE  QUESTION 

WHY  may  I  not  step  from  this  empty  room, 
Where  heavy  round  me  hangs  the  curtained 

gloom, 

And  passing  through  a  little  darkness  there, 
Even  as  one  climbs  to  bed  an  unlit  stair, 
Find  that  I  know  is  but  one  step  above, 
And  that  I  hunger  for :  my  Life :  my  Love  ? 

'T  is  but  a  curtain  doth  our  souls  divide, 

A  veil  my  eager  hand  might  tear  aside — 

One  step  to  take,  one  thrill,  one  throb,  one  bound, 

And  I  have  gained  my  Heaven,  the  Lost  have  found — 

Have  solved  the  riddle  rare,  the  secret  dread: 

The  vast,  unfathomable  secret  of  the  Dead. 

It  seems  but  now  that  as  I  yearning  stand, 
I  might  put  forth  my  hand  and  touch  her  hand ; 
That  I  might  lift  my  longing  eyes  and  trace 
But  for  the  darkness  there  the  gracious  face ; 
That  could  I  hush  the  grosser  sounds,  my  ear 
The  charmed  music  of  her  voice  might  hear. 

51 


THE  QUESTION 

She  may  not  come  to  me,  Alas !  I  know, 

Else  had  she  surely  come,  long,  long  ago. 

The  Conqueror  Death,  who  save  One  conquers  all, 

Had  never  power  to  hold  that  soul  in  thrall ; 

No  narrowest  prison-house ;  no  piled  up  stone 

Had  held  her  heart  a  captive  from  my  own. 

No,  't  is  not  these:    Hell's  might  nor  Heaven's 

charms, 

Had  never  power  to  hold  her  from  my  arms ; — 
'T  is  that  by  some  inscrutable,  fixed  Law, 
Vaster  than  mortal  vision  ever  saw, 
"Whose  sweep  is  worlds;  whose  track  Eternity, 
Somewhere  her  soul  angelic  waits  for  me: — 

Waits  patiently  His  Wisdom,  whose  decree 
Is  Wisdom 's  self  veiled  in  Infinity : 
Who  gives  us  Life  divine  with  mortal  breath, 
Yet  in  its  pathway,  lo !  hath  planted  Death ; 
Who  grants  us  Love  our  dull  souls  to  uplift 
Nearer  to  Him;  yet  tears  away  His  Gift; 

Crowns  us  with  Reason  in  His  image  made, 
Yet  blinds  our  eyes  with  never  lifting  shade. 

52 


THE  QUESTION 

Who  may  the  mystery  solve  ?     'T  is  His  decree ! 
Can  Mortal  understand  Infinity? 
Prostrate  thyself  before  His  feet,  dull  clod, 
Who  saith,  "Be  still,  and  know  that  I  am  God. 

Ah!  did  we  surely  know  the  joys  that  wait 
Beyond  the  portal  of  the  silent  gate, 
Who  would  a  moment  longer  here  abide, 
The  spectre,  Sorrow,  stalking  at  his  side? 
Who  would  not  daring  take  the  leap  and  be 
Unbound,  unfettered  clean,  a  slave  set  free! 


53 


OUR  DEAD 

WE  bury  our  dead, 
We  lay  them  to  sleep 
With  the  earth  for  their  bed, 
With  stones  at  their  head : 
We  leave  them  and  weep 
When  we  bury  our  dead. 

We  bury  our  dead, 
We  lay  them  to  sleep,— 
On  our  Mother's  calm  breast 
We  leave  them  to  rest — 
To  rest  while  we  weep. 

We  bury  our  dead, 
We  lay  them  to  sleep — 
They  reck  not  our  tears, 
Though  the  sad  years  creep— 
Through  our  tears,  through  the  years 
They  tranquilly  sleep. 

54 


OUK  DEAD 

We  bury  our  dead, 

We  lay  them  to  sleep ; 

We  bury  the  bloom 

Of  our  life, — all  our  bloom 

In  the  coffin  we  fold : 

We  enfold  in  the  tomb: 

We  reenter  the  room 

We  left  young,— we  are  old. 

We  bury  our  dead, 
We  lay  them  to  sleep ; 
The  cold  Time-tides  flow 
With  winter  and  spring, 
With  birds  on  the  wing, 
With  roses  and  snow, 
With  friends  who  beguile 
Our  sorrow  with  pity — 
With  pity  awhile. 
Then  weary  and  smile, 
Then  chide  us,  say,  "Lo! 
How  the  sun  shines,— 't  is  May." 
But  we  know  't  is  not  so— 
That  the  sun  died  that  day 
When  we  laid  them  away, 
55 


CUE  DEAD 

With  the  earth  for  a  bed — 
When  we  buried  our  dead. 

We  bury  our  dead, 

We  lay  them  to  sleep ; 

We  turn  back  to  the  world ; 

We  are  caught, — we  are  whirled 

In  the  rush  of  the  current — 

The  rush  and  the  sweep 

Of  the  tide,  without  rest. 

But  they  sleep— they  the  blest — 

The  Blessed  dead  sleep : 

They  tranquilly  rest 

On  our  Mother 's  calm  breast. 


56 


MY  MOTHER 

I  KNEW  her  in  her  prime, 
Before  the  seal  of  Time 
Was  graven  on  her  brow, 
As  Age  hath  graved  it  now : 
When  radiant  Youth  was  just  subdued 
To  yield  to  gracious  womanhood. 
And  as  an  inland  lake 
Lies  tranquil  mid  the  hills, 
Unruffled  by  the  storms  that  break 
Beyond,  and  mirrors  Heaven; 

So,  to  her  spirit,  freed  from  ills, 

A  blessed  calm  was  given. 

Encircled  by  War's  strife 

Peace  ruled  her  life. 

Christ's  teachings  were  her  constant  guide, 

And  naught  beside, 

Christ's  Death  and  Passion  were  her  plea— 

57 


MY  MOTHER 

None  needed  she ; 

For  that  amid  earth's  fiercest  strife 
Her  life  was  patterned  on  His  life. 
Now  when  her  eyes  grow  dim 
She  lives  so  close  to  Him, 
The  radiance  of  His  smile 
Envelops  her  the  while. 
As  when  the  Prophet's  figure  shone 
With  light  reflected  from  the  Throne, 
So,  ever  in  her  face 
Shines  Heaven's  divinest  grace. 
Her  soul  is  fresh  and  mild 
As  is  a  little  child. 
And  as  the  fleshly  tenement 
With  age  grows  worn  and  bent, 
Her  Spirit's  unabated  youth 
Is  aye  to  me 

The  mind-compelling  truth 
Of  Immortality. 
Her  voice  is,  as  it  were, 
A  silver  dulcimer, 
Tuned  like  the  seraph's  lays 
Eternally  to  praise. 

The  blessings  of  Christ's  chosen  friends 
58 


MY  MOTHER 

Are  doubly  hers,  whose  mind, 

To  charity  inclined, 

No  selfish  ends 

Have  ever  for  an  instant  moved 

Who  served  like  Martha 

And  like  Mary  loved. 


59 


HER  INFLUENCE 

THE   tender  Earth  that  smiles  when   kissed  by 
Spring ; 

The  flowers;  the  budding  woods;  the  birds  that  sing 
The  Summer's  song  her  spirit  to  me  bring. 

The  meadows  cool  that  breathe  their  fragrant  myrrh ; 
Deep,  placid  pools  that  little  breezes  blur; 
Soft-tinkling  springs  speak  to  my  heart  of  her. 

Heaven's  purple  towers  upon  the  horizon's  rim; 
The  dove  that  mourns  upon  his  lonely  limb, 
Fill  my  soul's  cup  with  memories  to  its  brim. 

In  evening 's  calm  when  in  the  quiet  skies, 
The  lustrous,  silent,  tender  stars  uprise, 
I  feel  the  holy  influence  of  her  eyes. 

That  deeper  hour  when  Night  with  Dawn  is  blent, 
And  Silence  stirs,  its  languors  well-nigh  spent, 
I  hear  her  gently  sigh  with  sweet  content. 

60 


HER  INFLUENCE 

I  hear  young  children  laughing  in  the  street: 

Catch  rays  of  sunshine  from  them  as  we  meet, 

And  smile  content  to  know  what  makes  them  sweet. 

Yea,  everywhere,  in  every  righteous  strife, 
I  find  her  spirit's  fragrant  influence  rife, 
Like  Mary's  precious  spikenard  sweetening  Life. 


61 


MATTHEW  ARNOLD 

HE  challenged  all  that  came  within  his  ken, 
And  Error  held  with  steadfast  mind  aloof. 
E  'en  Truth  itself  he  put  upon  the  proof : 
Holding  that  Light  was  God's  first  gift  to  men. 


62 


THE  STRANGER 

STRAYING  one  day  amid  the  leafy  bowers, 
A  Presence  passed,  masked  in  a  sunny  ray, 
Tossing  behind  him  carelessly  the  hours, 
As  one  shakes  blossoms  from  a  ravished  spray, — - 
Strewing  them  far  and  wide, 
Nor  glanced  to  either  side. 

A-sudden  as  he  strolled  he  chanced  upon 

A  flower  which  full  within  his  pathway  blew, 

White  as  a  lily,  modest  as  a  nun, 

Sweeter  than  Lilith's  rose  in  Eden  grew — 

Her  beauty  he  espied, 

Approached  and  softly  sighed. 

His  breath  the  blossom  stirred  and  all  the  air 
Grew  fragrant  with  a  subtle,  rich  perfume; 
The  spiced  alleys  glowed,  the  while  a  rare 
And  crystal  radiance  did  illume 

All  the  adjacent  space 

As  't  were  an  angel's  face. 

63 


THE  STEANGEE 

Kneeling,  he  gently  laid  his  glowing  lips, 
Like  softest  music  on  her  lips,  when  came 
A  thrill  that  trembled  to  her  petal-tips, 
And  on  the  instant,  with  a  sudden  flame, 

Leaped  forth  the  shining  sun, 

And  Earth  and  Heaven  were  one. 

:<Who  art  thou?"  queried  she,  "Tell  me  thy  name, 
To  whom  Godlike  this  Godlike  power  is  given, 
That  thus  for  me,  without  or  fear  or  shame, 
But  by  thy  lips'  soft  touch  Greatest  Heaven?" 

Whilst  to  his  heart  she  clove, 

He  whispered,  "I  am  Love." 


LOVE 

(AFTER  ANACREON) 

4  STRAY  within  a  garden  bright 
-*-*-  I  found  a  tiny  winged  sprite: 

He  scarce  was  bigger  than  a  sparrow 
And  bore  a  little  bow  and  arrow. 

I  lifted  him  up  in  my  arm, 
Without  a  thought  of  guile  or  harm ; 

But  merely  as  it  were  in  play, 
With  threats  to  carry  him  away. 

The  sport  he  took  in  such  ill  part, 
He  stuck  an  arrow  in  my  heart. 

And  ever  since,  I  have  such  pain, — 
I  cannot  draw  it  out  again. 

And  yet,  the  strangest  part  is  this : 

I  love  the  pain  as  though  't  were  bliss. 


65 


AN  OLD  REFRAIN 

IT  seems  to  me  as  I  think  of  her, 
That  my  youth  has  come  again : 
I  hear  the  breath  of  summer  stir 
The  leaves  in  the  old  refrain : 

* '  Oh !  my  Lady-love !  Oh !  my  Lady-love ! 

Oh!  where  can  my  Lady  be? 
I  will  seek  my  Love,  with  the  wings  of  a  dove, 
And  pray  her  to  love  but  me." 

The  flower-kissed  meadows  all  once  more 
Are  green  with  grass  and  plume ; 
The  apple-trees  again  are  hoar 
With  fragrant  snow  of  bloom. 

Oh !  my  Lady-love !  Oh !  my  Lady-love ! 

Oh !  where  can  my  Lady  be  ?  etc. 

The  meadow-brook  slips  tinkling  by 
With  silvery,  rippling  flow, 
And  blue-birds  sing  on  fences  nigh, 
To  dandelions  below. 
66 


AN  OLD  REFRAIN 

Oh !  my  Lady-love,  Oh,  my  Lady-love ! 
Oh !  where  can  my  Lady  be  ?  etc. 

I  hear  again  the  drowsy  croon 
Of  honey-laden  bees, 
And  catch  the  poppy-mellowed  rune 
They  hum  to  locust  trees. 

Oh !  my  Lady-love !    Oh !  my  Lady-love ! 

Oh !  where  can  my  Lady-love  be  ?  etc. 

Far  off  the  home-returning  cows 
Low  that  the  Eve  is  late, 
And  call  their  calves  neath  apple-boughs 
To  meet  them  at  the  gate. 

Oh !  my  Lady-love !    Oh !  my  Lady-love ! 

Oh !  where  can  my  Lady  be  ?  etc. 

Once  more  the  Knights  and  ladies  pass 

In  visions  Fancy- wove : 

I  lie  full  length  in  summer  grass, 

To  choose  my  own  True-Love. 

Oh !  my  Lady-love !    Oh !  my  Lady-love ! 

Oh !  where  can  my  Lady  be  ?  etc. 
67 


AN  OLD  EEFRAIN 

I  know  not  how, — I  know  not  where, — 

I  dream  a  fairy-spell: 

I  know  she  is  surpassing  fair,— 

I  know  I  love  her  well. 

Oh !  my  Lady-love !    Oh !  my  Lady-love ! 

Oh !  where  can  my  Lady  be  ?  etc. 

I  know  she  is  as  pure  as  snow: — 
As  true  as  God's  own  Truth: — 
I  know, — I  know  I  love  her  so, 
She  must  love  me,  in  sooth ! 

Oh !  my  Lady-love !    Oh !  my  Lady-love ! 

Oh !  where  can  my  Lady  be  ?  etc. 

I  know  the  stars  dim  to  her  eyes ; 
The  flowers  blow  in  her  face: 
I  know  the  angels  in  the  skies 
Have  given  her  of  their  grace. 

Oh !  my  Lady-love !    Oh !  my  Lady-love ! 

Oh !  where  can  my  Lady  be  ?  etc. 

And  none  but  I  her  heart  can  move, 
Though  seraphs  may  have  striven ; 
And  when  I  find  my  own  True-love, 
I  know  I  shall  find  Heaven. 

68 


AN  OLD  REFRAIN 

Oh!  my  Lady-love!  Oh!  my  Lady-love! 
Oh !  where  can  my  Lady  be ! 
I  will  seek  my  Love  with  the  wings  of  a  dove 
And  pray  her  to  love  but  me. 


69 


TO  CLAUDIA 

IT  is  not,  Claudia,  that  thine  eyes 
Are  sweeter  far  to  me, 
Than  is  the  light  of  Summer  skies 
To  captives  just  set  free. 

It  is  not  that  the  setting  sun 

Is  tangled  in  thy  hair, 
And  recks  not  of  the  course  to  run, 

In  such  a  silken  snare. 

Nor  for  the  music  of  thy  words, 

Fair  Claudia,  love  I  thee, 
Though  sweeter  than  the  songs  of  birds 

That  melody  to  me. 

It  is  not  that  rich  roses  rare 

Within  thy  garden  grow, 
Nor  that  the  fairest  lilies  are 

Less  snowy  than  thy  brow. 
70 


TO  CLAUDIA 

Nay,  Claudia,  't  is  that  every  grace 

In  thy  dear  self  I  find ; 
That  Heaven  itself  is  in  thy  face, 

And  also  in  thy  mind. 


71 


THE  APPLE-TREES  AT  EVEN 

AH !  long  ago  it  seems  to  me, 
-^-    Those  sweet  old  days  of  summer, 
When  I  was  young  and  fair  was  she, 

And  sorrow  only  rumor. 

And  all  the  world  was  less  than  naught 

To  me  who  had  her  favor ; 
For  Time  and  Care  had  not  then  taught 

How  Life  of  Death  hath  savor. 

And  all  the  day  the  roving  bees 
Clung  to  the  swinging  clover, 

And  robins  in  the  apple-trees 
Answered  the  faint-voiced  plover. 

And  all  the  sounds  were  low  and  sweet ; 

The  zephyrs  left  off  roaming 
In  curving  gambols  o'er  the  wheat, 

To  kiss  her  in  the  gloaming. 
72 


THE  APPLE-TKEES  AT  EVEN 

The  apple-blossoms  kissed  her  hair, 
The  daisies  prayed  her  wreathe  them; 

Ah,  me !  the  blossoms  still  are  there, 
But  she  lies  deep  beneath  them. 

I  now  nave  turned  my  thoughts  to  God, 

Earth  from  my  heart  I  sever; 
With  fast  and  prayer  I  onward  plod — 

With  prayer  and  fast  forever. 

Yet,  when  the  white-robed  priest  speaks  low 

And  bids  me  think  of  Heaven, 
I  always  hear  the  breezes  blow 

The  apple-trees  at  even. 


73 


MY  TRUE-LOVE'S  WEALTH 

MY  True-love  hath  no  wealth  they  say ; 
But  when  they  do,  I  tell  them  nay,— 
For  she  hath  wealth  of  golden  hair, 
Shot  through  with  shafts  from  Delos'  bow, 
That  shines  about  her  shoulders  rare, 
Like  sunlight  on  new  driven  snow. 

My  True-love  hath  no  wealth  they  say ; 
But  when  they  do,  I  tell  them  nay, — 
For  she  hath  eyes  so  soft  and  bright, 
So  deep  the  light  that  in  them  lies, 
That  stars  in  heaven  would  lose  their  light 
Ashine  beside  my  True-love's  eyes. 

My  True-love  hath  no  wealth  they  say ; 
But  when  they  do,  I  tell  them  nay, — 
For  oh!  she  hath  such  dainty  hands, 
So  snowy  white,  so  fine  and  small, 
That  had  I  wealth  of  Ophir's  lands, 
For  one  of  them  I  'd  give  it  all. 

74 


MY  TBUE-LOVE'S  WEALTH 

My  True-love  hath  no  wealth  they  say ; 
But  when  they  do,  I  tell  them  nay,— 
For  oh !  she  hath  a  face  so  fair, 
Such  winsome  light  about  it  plays, 
For  worldly  wealth  I  nothing  care, 
So  I  can  look  upon  her  face. 

My  True-love  hath  no  wealth  they  say ; 
But  when  they  do,  I  tell  them  nay,— 
For  endless  wealth  of  mind  hath  she, 
Her  heart  so  stored  with  precious  lore— 
Her  riches  they  as  countless  be 
As  shells  upon  the  ocean's  shore. 

My  True-love  hath  no  wealth  they  say ; 
But  when  they  do,  I  tell  them  nay, — 
The  wild-brier  bough  hath  less  of  grace 
And  on  wild  violets  when  she  treads 
They  turn  to  look  into  her  face 
And  scarcely  bow  their  azure  heads. 

My  True-love  hath  no  wealth  they  say ; 
But  when  they  do,  I  tell  them  nay,— 
For  oh !  she  hath  herself,  in  fee, 
And  tljis  is  more  than  worlds  to  me. 

75 


A  VALENTINE 

patron  saint,  St.  Valentine, 
Why  dost  thou  leave  me  to  repine, 
Still  supplicating  at  her  shrine  ? 

But  bid  her  eyes  to  me  incline, 
I  '11  ask  no  other  sun  to  shine, 
More  rich  than  is  Golconda's  mine. 

Range  all  that  Woman,  Song,  or  Wine 

Can  give;  Wealth,  Power,  and  Fame  combine; 

For  her  I  'd  gladly  all  resign. 

Take  all  the  pearls  are  in  the  brine, 

Sift  heaven  for  stars,  earth's  flowers  entwine, 

But  be  her  heart  my  Valentine. 


76 


A  PORTRAIT 

A  MOUTH  red-ripened  like  a  warm,  sweet  rose, 
Wherein  are  gleaming  pearls  all  pure  and  bright 
As  dewdrops  nestled  where  the  zephyr  blows 
With  pinion  soft  across  the  humid  night; 
A  cheek  not  ruddy,  but  soft-tinged  and  fair, 
Where  whiles  the  rich  patrician  blood  is  seen, 
As  though  it  knew  itself  a  thing  too  rare 
For  common  gaze,  yet  did  its  high  demean ; 
A  brow  serene  and  pure  as  her  white  soul, 
By  which  the  sifted  snow  would  blackened  seem 
That  sleeps  untrodden  where  the  Northern  pole 
Rests  calm,  unscanned  save  by  the  Moon's  chaste  beam  ; 
Eyes  gray  as  Summer  twilight  skies  are  gray, 
And  deep  with  light  as  deep,  still  waters  are,- 
Tender  as  evening's  smile  when  kissing  day, 
Yet  bright  and  true  as  is  her  lustrous  star. 
These  all  unite  and  with  accordant  grace 
Make  heaven  mirrored  ever  in  her  face. 


77 


FfiLICE 

are  very  fair,  Felice,  wondrous  fair, 
And  the  light  deep  in  your  eyes 
Is  more  soft  than  summer  skies, 
And  rare  roses  in  your  cheek 
Play  with  lilies  hide-and-seek,— 
Play  as  Pleasure  plays  with  Care. 

And  your  throat  is  white,  Felice,  wondrous  white, 

White  as  sifted  snow,  I  wis, 

Ere  the  sun  hath  stol'n  a  kiss, 

High  up  starry  mountain-heights, 

Or  as  in  rich  moonf  ul  nights 

Parian  baths  in  Cynthia's  light. 

And,  Felice,  your  rippling  waves  of  soft  hair, 
In  their  mystic  depths  aye  hold 
Shade  and  shimmer  of  red  gold, 
Like  a  halo  round  your  face, 
Lending  you  another  grace 
From  the  sunbeams  shining  there. 
78 


FELICE 

And  your  voice  is  sweet,  Felice,  wondrous  sweet, 

As  the  murmur  of  the  sea, 

After  long  captivity, 

To  a  sailor  far  inland, — 

Or  as  summer  flowers  fanned 

By  soft  zephyrs  blown  o'er  wheat. 

But  so  stony,  fair  Felice,  is  your  heart, 
That  I  wonder  oft,  I  own, 
If  you  're  not  mere  carven  stone — 
While  my  soul  your  charms  enthrall — 
Just  some  chiseled  Goddess  tall : 
Merely  Beauty,  Stone,  and  Art. 


79 


', 


LOVE  SONG 

TOVE  's  for  Youth,  and  not  for  Age, 
-•-^    E'en  though  Age  should  wear  a  crown; 
For  the  Poet,  not  the  Sage ; 
Not  the  Monarch,  but  the  Clown. 

Love  's  for  Peace,  and  not  for  War, 
E'en  though  War  bring  all  renown; 

For  the  Violet,  not  the  Star; 
For  the  Meadow,  not  the  Town. 

Love  's  for  lads  and  Love  's  for  maids, 

Courts  a  smile  and  flees  a  frown ; 
Love  's  for  Love,  and  saucy  jades 

Love  Love  most  when  Love  has  flown. 

Love  a  cruel  tyrant  is : 

Slays  his  victims  with  a  glance, 
Straight  recovers  with  a  kiss, 

But  to  slay  again,  perchance. 

80 


LOVE  SONG 

Wouldst  thou  know  where  Love  doth  bide  ? 

Whence  his  sharpest  arrows  fly? 
In  a  dimple  Love  may  hide, 

Or  the  ambush  of  an  eye. 

Wert  thou  clad  in  triple  mail, 

In  some  desert  far  apart, 
Not  a  whit  would  this  avail : 

Love  would  find  and  pierce  thy  heart. 


81 


THE  HARBOUR-LIGHT 

OH,  the  Harbour-light  and  the  Harbour-light! 
And  how  shall  we  come  to  the  Harbour-light? 
'Tis  black  to-night  and  the  foam  is  white, 
And  would  we  might  win  to  the  Harbour-light! 

Oh,  the  Harbour-bar  and  the  Harbour-bar ! 
And  how  shall  we  pass  o'er  the  Harbour-bar? 
The  sea  is  tost  and  the  ship  is  lost, 
And  deep  is  the  sleep  'neath  the  Harbour-bar. 


82 


FADED  SPRAY  OF  MIGNONETTE 

FADED  spray  of  mignonette, 
Can  you  ever  more  forget 
How  you  lay  that  summer  night, 
In  the  new  moon's  silvery  light, 
Dreaming  sweet  in  tranquil  rest 
On  my  true-love's  snowy  breast? 

Since  her  rosy  finger-tips 
Bore  you  to  her  fragrant  lips, 
Blessed  you  with  a  shadowy  kiss, 
Nestled  you  again  in  bliss, 
(Envied  of  the  Gods  above) 
All  is  faded  save  my  love. 


83 


LOST  ROSES 

T  STOOD  beside  the  laughing,  shining  river, 
-*-  And  shook  the  roses  down  upon  its  breast,— 
I  watched  them  whirl  away  with  gleam  and  quiver, 
As  't  were  a  merry  jest. 

I  stood  beside  the  silent,  sombre  river, 
As  creep ingly  the  tide  came  from  the  sea, 
I  watched  for  my  fair  roses,  but  ah !  never 
Did  they  come  back  to  me. 


84 


DE  NAME  OF  OLE  VIRGINIA 

SONG 

DE  old  place  on  de  Ches  'peake  Bay 
Is  in  my  heart  to-night — 
I  hopes  to  git  back  d'yar  some  day, 
An'  hongers  for  de  sight. 

Dee  come  an '  tole  me  I  was  free, 
An '  all  my  work  was  done ; 
I  left  dem  whar  was  good  to  me, 
An'  now  I  'se  all  alone. 

De  name  of  ole  Virginia 

Is  sweet  as  rain  in  drouf — 

Oh !  Master,  say,  has  you  been  dy  'ar  ? 

Hit  's  way  down  in  de  Souf. 

De  grass  dat  grows  'pon  top  de  hill 
De  ones  I  love  does  hide, 
I  pray  de  Lord  to  spyah  me  still 
To  sleep  dyar  by  dee  side. 

85 


DE  NAME  OF  OLE  VIRGINIA 

De  ole  plantation  's  sole  an'  all, 
But  sometime  dee  will  come, 
An'  I  will  hear  Brer  Gabrull  call, 
To  fetch  de  ole  man  home. 

De  name  ob  ole  Virginia 

Is  sweet  as  rain  in  drouf — 

Oh!  Master,  say,  has  you  been  dy'ar? 

Hit  's  way  down  in  de  Souf . 


86 


THE  DANCER 

FROM  ONE  WHO  KNOWS  ONE  OF  THE  MUSES 

YOU  say  the  gods  and  muses  all 
From  earth  now  banished  be? 
Will  you  believe  that  yester-eve 
I  saw  Terpsichore? 

Her  robe  of  snow  and  gossamer 

Enclad  a  form  most  neat; 
Such  sandals  green  were  never  seen 

As  shod  her  twinkling  feet. 

Her  every  step  was  melody, 

Her  every  motion  grace, 
That  one  might  prize  a  thousand  eyes 

To  note  both  form  and  face. 

The  motes  that  dance  in  sunny  beams 
Tripped  never  in  such  wise; 

This  lovely  sprite  danced  in  the  light 
That  beamed  from  her  own  eyes. 
87 


THE  DANCER 

A  man's  head  once  was  danced  away — 

You  know  how  it  befell  ? 
My  dainty  fay  danced  yesterday 

Men's  hearts  away  as  well. 

What  's  that?     'Twas  but  a  graceful  girl 
That  took  the  hearts  for  pelf  ? 

Nay,  I  was  there,  and  't  was,  I  swear, 
Terpsichore  herself. 


88 


THE  APRIL-FACE 

AN  OLD  IDYL  OF  A  RICHMOND  STREET-CAB 

ALL  up  the  street  at  a  stately  pace 
-£JL    The  maiden  passed  with  her  April-face, 
And  the  roses  I  'd  paid  for,  on  her  breast 
Were  white  as  the  eggs  in  a  partridge-nest, 
While  behind  her— driver  upon  his  stool — 
Tinkled  the  bell  of  the  street-car  mule. 

1  Going  to  walk  up  the  street  1 "  I  said ; 

She  graciously  bowed  her  beautiful  head. 
'Then  I  '11  walk,  too;  't  is  a  lovely  day."— 

Thus  I  opened  the  ball  in  my  usual  way. 
'Do  you  see  the  car  anywhere?"  inquired 

The  April-face,  "I  'ma  trifle  tired." 

I  urged  a  walk ;  'twas  a  useless  suit ! 
She  wildly  waved  her  parachute ; 
The  stub-tailed  mule  stopped  quick  enow; 
I  handed  her  in  with  a  stately  bow ; 
And  the  bell  rang  out  with  a  jangled  quirk, 
As  the  stub-tailed  mule  went  off  with  a  jerk. 
89 


THE  APEIL-FACE 

Three  men  as  she  entered  solemnly  rose, 
And  quietly  trampled  their  neighbors'  toes; 
A  dudish  masher  left  his  place, 
And  edged  near  the  girl  with  the  April-face, 
Who  sat  on  the  side  you  'd  call  "the  lee," 
(With  the  same  sweet  smile  she  'd  sat  on  me). 

The  day  it  was  lovely ;  mild  the  air ; 
The  sky,  like  the  maiden's  face,  was  fair; 
The  car  was  full,  and  a  trifle  stale 
(Attached  to  the  mule  with  the  stubbly  tail) ; 
Yet  the  maiden  preferred  the  seat  she  hired, 
To  the  stroll  with  me ;  for  I  made  her  tired. 

And  now  when  the  maiden  walks  the  street 
With  another's  flowers,  and  smile  so  sweet, 
I  wave  to  the  driver  upon  his  stool, 
And  stop  the  stub-tailed  street-car  mule, 
While  I  purchase  a  seat  with  half  my  pelf; 
For  it  makes  me  a  trifle  tired  myself. 


90 


COME  BACK  TO  US,  DAVIE 

SO,  Davie,  you  're  gaeing  to  tak  yo'  a  wife 
To  halve  a'  yo'  sorrows,  an'  sweeten  yo'  life; 
An'  Davie,  my  laddie,  I  wish  you  enow 
Of  joy  and  content  on  your  shiny  auld  pow. 

She  's  feat  and  she  's  brightsome,  I  ken,  as  the  day 
When  sinshine  is  whispering  its  luve  to  the  May; 
Her  cheeks  are  like  blossoms,  her  mouth  is  a  rose, 
And  her  teeth  are  the  pearlies  its  petals  enclose. 

Of  her  voice,  her  ain  music,  I  dinna    say  mair, 

Than  that  'tis  a  strain  might  a  bogle  ensnare, 

And  her  een  they  are  stars  beaming  forth  a  bright 

flame 
To  cheer  a  puir  wanderer  and  lead  him  safe  hame. 

Yes,  Davie,  ye  villain,  ye  're  sleekit  and  slee, 

Ye  've  lift  the  door  sneck  and  looped  in  afore  me ; 

Ye  've  steek  it  ahint  ye  and  lea'ed  me  alain, 

Like  a  dowie  auld  cat  blinkin'  by  the  hearth-stane. 

91 


COME  BACK  TO  US,  DAVIE 

Yet  Davie,  belyve,  should  you  mind  in  your  joy 
The  puir  lonely  carlies  you  lo  'ed  as  a  boy, 
The  memories  of  canty  auld  days  we  have  spent 
Will  come  like  the  harp-tones  o'er  still  waters  sent. 

Then  come  to  me,  Davie,  auld  days  we  11  renew ; 
We  '11  heap  the  bit-ingle  and  bouse  the  auld  brew; 
We  '11  smoke  the  auld  pipe,  till  we  freshen  your  life, 
And  send  you  back  young  as  a  boy  to  your  wife. 


92 


THE  WITCH 

CELIA,  before  her  mirror  bends, 
Inquiring  how  to  please  her  friends. 

The  mystery  is  solved  apace : 
The  mirror  but  reflects  her  grace. 

Her  mirror  Celia  now  defies, 
She  sees  herself  in  all  men's  eyes. 

Celia  's  a  witch,  and  hath  such  arts, 
Her  image  is  in  all  men's  hearts. 


HUMANITY 

A  LOVER  left  his  new-made  bride 
-^*-  And  shot  a  dove  with  her  mate  at  her  side. 


93 


ASPIRATION 

I  HAVE  stood  and  watched  the  Eagle  soar  into  the 
Sun, 

And  envied  him  his  swift  light-cleaving  pinion; 
And,  though  I  may  not  soar,  at  least  I  may 
Lift  up  my  feet  above  the  encumbering  clay. 


REALITY 


fin  HERE  be  three  things  real  in  all  the  earth : 
A    Mother-love,  Death,  and  a  Little  Child's  mirth. 


94 


LITTLE  DOLLY  DIMPLE 

ETTLE  Dolly  Dimple, 
In  her  green  wimple, 
Knows  all  the  philosophers  know: 
That  fire  is  hot 
And  ice  is  not, 

And  that  sun  will  melt  the  snow. 
She  has  heard  that  the  moon  is  made  of  green  cheese ; 
But  she  's  not  quite  certain  of  this. 
She  knows  if  you  tickle  your  nose  you  will  sneeze, 
And  a  hurt  is  made  well  by  a  kiss. 
I  wish  I  were  wise  as  Dolly  is  wise, 
For  mysteries  lie  in  her  deep,  clear  eyes. 


95 


T 


A  VALENTINE 

TO  M.  F.  AND  F.  F. 

HE  Fourteenth  Day  of  February  fine: 
I  choose  you  for  my  Valentine." 


Thus  ran  the  first  of  the  sweet  old  rhymes 
On  the  Lovers '-Day  in  the  old,  sweet  times 
And  so,  I  follow  closely  along 
To  tell  my  love  in  the  words  of  the  song. 

"Roses  are  red;  violets  are  Hue; 
Pinks  are  sweet,  and  so  are  you." 

Eoses  are  red  in  my  sweetheart's  cheeks, 
Deepening  tints  whenever  one  speaks; 
Violets  are  blue  in  the  eyes  of  one ; 
In  the  eyes  of  the  other  smileth  the  sun ; 
But  never  were  roses  half  so  rare 
And  never  were  pinks  a  tithing  as  fair 
And  never  have  they  in  their  garden-bed 
A  hundredth  part  of  the  fragrance  shed, 
96 


A  VALENTINE 

As  my  two  flowers  in  their  sweet  home-frame, 
Both  flowers  by  nature  and  one  by  name. 
So  as  sure  as  the  bloom  grows  on  the  vine 
I  '11  choose  them  for  my  valentine: 
My  sweet-heart  one  and  my  sweet-heart  two, 
Both  little  sweet-hearts  sweet  and  true — 
To  love  and  to  cherish  forever  mine: 
To  cherish  and  love  as  my  valentine. 


97 


DIALECT  POEMS 

PEOM  "  BEPCy  DE  WAB  " 


UNCLE  GABE'S  WHITE  FOLKS 

SARVENT,  Marster!    Yes,  suh,  dat  's  me— 
'Ole  Unc'  Gabe'  's  my  name; 
I  thankee,  Marster;  I  'm  'bout,  yo'  see. 

"An'  de  ole  'ooman?"    She  's  much  de  same: 
Po'ly  an'  c'plainin',  thank  de  Lord! 
But  de  Marster 's  gwine  ter  come  back  from  'broad. 

"Fine  ole  place?"    Yes,  suh,  't  is  so; 

An'  mighty  fine  people  my  white  folks  war- 
But  you  ought  ter  V  seen  it  years  ago, 

When  de  Marster  an '  de  Mistis  lived  up  dyah ; 
When  de  niggers  'd  stan'  all  roun'  de  do', 
Like  grains  o'  corn  on  de  cornhouse  flo'. 

' '  Live '  mons  'ous  high  ? ' '    Yes,  Marster,  yes ; 

D'  cut  'n'  onroyal  'n'  gordly  dash; 
Eat  an'  drink  till  you  could  n'  res'. 

My  folks  war  n '  none  o '  yo '  po  '-white-trash ; 
101 


UNCLE  GABE'S  WHITE  FOLKS 

Nor,  suh,  dey  was  of  high  degree — 
Dis  heah  nigger  am  quality! 

1 ' Tell  you  'bout  'em?"    You  mus'   'a'  hearn 

'Bout  my  ole  white  folks,  sho'! 
I  tell  you,  suh,  dey  was  gre't  an'  stern; 
D'  didn'  have  nuttin'  at  all  to  learn; 

D'  knowed  all  dar  was  to  know; 
GoP  over  dey  head  an'  onder  dey  feet; 
An*  silber!  dey  sowed  't  like  folks  sows  wheat. 

"Use'  ter  be  rich?"    Dat  warn'  de  wud! 

D'  jes'  wallowed  an'  roll'  in  wealf. 
Why,  none  o'  my  white  folks  ever  stir'd 

Ter  lif  a  han'  for  d'  self; 
De  niggers  use  ter  be  stan'in'  roun' 
Jes'  d'  same  ez  leaves  when  dey  fus'  fall  down; 
De  stable-stalls  up  heah  at  home 
Looked  like  teef  in  a  fine-toof  comb ; 
De  cattle  was  p'digious— I  mus'  tell  de  facM 
An'  de  hogs  mecked  de  hill-sides  look  lite  black; 
An'  de  flocks  o'  sheep  was  so  gre't  an'  white 
Dey  'peared  like  clouds  on  a  moonshine  night. 
An'  when  my  ole  Mistis  use'  ter  walk— 

102 


UNCLE  GABE'S  WHITE  FOLKS 

Jes*  ter  her  kerridge  (dat  was  fur 

Ez  ever  she  walked) — I  tell  you,  sir, 
You  could  almos'  heah  her  silk  dress  talk; 

Hit  use'  ter  soun'  like  de  mornin'  breeze, 
When  it  wakes  an'  rustles  de  Gre't  House  trees. 
An'  de  Marster's  face! — de  Marster's  face, 

Whenever  de  Marster  got  right  pleased — 
Well,  I  'clar'  ter  Gord!  't  would  shine  wid  grace 

De  same  ez  his  countenance  had  been  greased. 
Dat  cellar,  too,  had  de  bes '  o '  wine, 
An*  brandy,  an'  sperrits  dat  yo'  could  fine; 
An'  ev'ything  in  dyah  was  stored, 
'Skusin'  de  Glory  of  de  Lord! 

"Warn'  dyah  a  son?"    Yes,  suh,  you  knows 

He  's  de  young  Marster  now ; 
But  we  heah  dat  dey  tooken  he  very  clo'es 

Ter  pay  what  ole  Marster  owe; 
He  's  done  been  gone  ten  year,  I  s'pose. 
But  he  's  comin'  back  some  day,  of  co'se; 
An  my  ole  'ooman  is  aluz  'pyard, 

An'  meckin'  de  Blue-Room  baid; 
An'  ev'ry  day  dem  sheets  is  ayard, 

An '  will  be  tell  she  's  daid ; 

103 


UNCLE  GABE'S  WHITE  FOLKS 

An'  dem  styars  she  '11  scour, 
An'  dat  room  she  '11  ten', 
Ev'y  blessed  day  dat  de  Lord  do  sen'! 

What  say,  Marster?     Yo'  say,  you  knows — ? 

He  's  young  an'  slender-like  an'  fyah; 
Better-lookin'  'n  you,  of  co'se! 
Hi !  you  's  he ?    'Fo'  Gord !  't  is  him ! 

'T  is  de  very  voice  an'  eyes  an'  hyah, 

An'  mouf  an'  smile,  on'y  yo'  ain'  so  slim— 
I  wonder  whah— whah  is  de  ole  'ooman  ? 
Now  let  my  soul 

Depart  in  peace 
For  I  behol' 
Dy  glory,  Lord! — I  knowed  you,  chile— 

I  knowed  you  soon  's  I  see  'd  your  face! 
Whar  has  you  been  dis  blessed  while? 

Yo'  's  "done  come  back  an'  buy  de  place? 

Oh,  bless  de  Lord  for  all  his  grace ! 
De  ravins  shell  hunger,  an'  shell  not  lack 
De  Marster,  de  young  Marster  is  done  come  back! 


104 


LITTLE  JACK1 

YES,  suh.    'T  was  jes'  'bout  sundown 
Dad  went— two  months  ago ; 
I  always  used  ter  run  down 

Dat  time,  bee 'us',  you  know, 
I  wudden  like  ter  had  him  die, 
An'  no  one  nigh. 

You  see,  we  cudden  git  him 
Ter  come  'way  off  dat  Ian' — 

'E  said  New  House  did  n'  fit  him, 
No  mo'  'n  new  shoes  did;  an' 

Gord  mout  miss  him  at  Jedgment  day, 
Ef  he  moved  'way. 

j'How  ole?"    Ef  we  ail  wondered 
How  ole  he  was,  he  'd  frown 

An'  say  he  was  "a  hundred  an— 
Ole  Miss  done  sot  it  down, 

An'  she  could  tell — 't  was  fo'  or  five — 
Ef  she  was  live." 

0 

1  In  memory  of  John  Dabney,  of  Richmond,  Virginia : 
a  man  faithful  to  all  trusts. 

105 


LITTLE  JACK 

Well,  when,  as  I  was  sayin', 
Dat  night  I  come  on  down, 

I  see  he  bench  was  lay  in' 
Flat-sided  on  de  groun'; 

An'  I  kinder  hurried  to'ds  de  do' — 
Quick-like,  you  know. 

Inside  I  see  him  layin' 

Back,  quiet,  on  de  bed; 
An'  I  heahed  him  kep  on  sayin': 

"Dat  's  what  ole  Marster  said; 
An'  Marster  warn'  gwine  tell  me  lie, 

He  '11  come  by-m'-by." 

I  axed  how  he  was  gettin'. 

"Nigh  ter  de  furrow's  een'," 
He  said;  "dis  ebenin',  settin' 

Outside  de  do',  I  seen 
De  thirteen  curlews  come  in  line, 

An'  knowed  de  sign. 

"You  know,  ole  Marster  tole  me 
He  'd  come  for  me  'fo'  long; 

'Fo'  you  was  born,  he  sole  me— 
But  den  he  pined  so  strong 
106 


LITTLE  JACK 

He  come  right  arter  Little  Jack, 
An'  buyed  him  back. 

"I  went  back  ter  de  kerrige 

An '  tuk  dem  reins  ag  'in. 
I  druv  him  ter  his  marriage ; 

An',  nigger,  't  was  a  sin 
Ter  see  de  high  an'  mighty  way 

I  looked  dat  day! 

"Dat  coat  had  nary  button 

'Skusin'  it  was  ob  gole ; 
My  hat — but  dat  warn't  nuttin'! 

'T  was  noble  ter  behole 
De  way  dem  bosses  pawed  de  yar, 

Wid  me  up  dyar. 

"Now  all  's  w'ared  out  befo'  me ! — 

Marster,  an'  coat,  an'  all; 
Me  only  lef— you  know  me! — 

Cheat  wheat  's  de  lars'  ter  fall: 
De  rank  grain  ben's  wid  its  own  weight, 

De  light  stan's  straight. 

"But  heah!     Ole  Marster  's  waitin' — 
So  I  mus'  tell  you:  raise 
107 


LITTLE  JACK 

De  jice  dyar ;  'neaf  de  platin'— 

De  sweat  o'  many  days 
Is  in  dat  stockin' — toil  an'  pain 

In  sun  an'  rain. 

"I  worked  ter  save  dem  figgers 

Ter  buy  you  •  but  de  Lord 
He  sot  free  all  de  niggers, 

Same  as  white-folks,  'fo'  Gord! 
Free  as  de  crows!    Free  as  de  stars! 

Free  as  ole  hyars! 

"Now,  chile,  you  teck  dat  money, 
Git  on  young  Marster's  track, 

An'  pay  it  ter  him,  honey; 
An'  tell  him  Little  Jack 

"Worked  forty  year,  dis  Chris 'mus  come, 
Ter  save  dat  sum; 

"An'  dat  't  was  for  ole  Marster, 

To  buy  your  time  f'om  him; 
But  dat  de  war  come  farster, 

An'  squandered  stock  an'  lim'— 
Say  you  kin  work  an'  don't  need  none, 

An'  he  carn't,  son. 

108 


LITTLE  JACK 

"He  am'  been  use  ter  diggin' 

His  livin'  out  de  dirt; 
He  carn't  drink  out  a  piggin, 

Like  you;  an'  it  'ud  hurt 
Ole  Marster's  pride,  an'  make  him  sw'ar, 

In  glory  dyar!" 

Den  all  his  strength  seemed  fallin'; 

He  shet  his  eyes  awhile, 
An'  den  said:  "Heish!  he  's  callin'! 

Dyar  he!    Now  watch  him  smile! 
Yes,  suh—    You  niggers  jes'  stan'  back! 

Marster,  here  's  Jack!" 


109 


ASHCAKE 

WELL,  yes,  suh,  dat  am  a  comical  name 
It  are  so,  an'  for  a  fac' — 
But  I  knowed  one,  down  in  Ferginyer, 
Could  'a'  toted  dat  on  its  back. 

1 '  What  was  it  1 ' '      I  'm  gwine  to  tell  you — 

'T  was  mons  'us  long  ago : 
'T  was,  "Ashcake,"  suh;  an'  all  on  us 

Use'  ter  call  'im  jes',  "Ashcake,"  so. 

You  see,  suh,  my  ole  Marster,  he 

Was  a  pow'ful  wealfy  man, 
Wid  mo'  plantations  dan  hyahs  on  you  haid — 

Gre  't  acres  o '  low-groun '  Ian ' : 

Jeems  River  bottoms,  dat  used  ter  stall 

A  fo'-hoss  plough,  no  time; 
An'  he  'd  knock'  you  down  ef  you  jes'  had  dyared 

Ter  study  'bout  guano  'n'  lime. 
110 


ASHCAKE 

De  corn  used  ter  stan'  in  de  row  dat  thick 

You  jes '  could  follow  de  balk ; 
An'  rank !  well  I  'clar '  ter  de  king,  Ise  seed 

Five  'coons  up  a  single  stalk! 

He  owned  mo'  niggers  'n  arr'  a  man 

About  dyar,  black  an'  bright; 
He  owned  so  many,  b'fo'  de  Lord, 

He  did  n '  know  all  by  sight ! 

Well,  suh,  one  evelin',  long  to'ds  dusk, 

I  seen  de  Marster  stan' 
An'  watch  a  yaller  boy  pass  de  gate 

Wid  a  ashcake  in  his  han'. 

Hfe  never  had  no  mammy  at  all — 

Leastways,  she  was  dead  by  dat — 
An'  de  cook  an'  de  hands  about  on  de  place 

Used  ter  see  dat  de  boy  kep'  fat. 

"Well,  he  trotted  along  down  de  parf  dat  night, 

An'  de  Marster  he  seen  him  go, 
An'  hollered,  "Say,  boy — say,  what  's  yer  name?' 

" A— ashcake,  suh,"  says  Joe. 

Ill 


ASHCAKE 

It  'peared  ter  tickle  de  Marster  much, 
An'  he  called  him  up  to  de  do'. 

"Well,  dat  is  a  curisome  name,"  says  he; 
"But  I  guess  it  suits  you,  sho'." 

"Whose  son  are  you?"  de  Marster  axed. 

"Young  Jane's,"  says  Joe;  "she  's  daid.' 
A  sperrit  cudden  'a'  growed  mo'  pale, 

An',  "By  Gord!"  I  heerd  him  said. 

He  tuk  de  child  'long  in  de  house, 

Jes'  'count  o'  dat  ar  whim; 
An',  dat-time-out,  you  nuver  see 

Sich  sto'  as  he  sot  by  him. 

An'  Ashcake  swung  his  cradle,  too, 

As  clean  as  ever  you  see ; 
An'  stuck  as  close  ter  ole  Marster 's  heel 

As  de  shader  sticks  to  de  tree. 

'Twel  one  dark  night,  when  de  river  was  out, 

De  Marster  an'  Ashcake  Joe 
Was  comin'  home  an'  de  skiff  upsot, 

An'  bofe  wo  'd  'a'  drowned,  sho', 
112 


ASHCAKE 

Excusin'  dat  Ashcake  cotch'd  ole  Marst'r 

An'  gin  him  holt  o'  de  boat, 
An'  saved  him  so;  but  't  was  mo'n  a  week 

B'fo'  his  body  corned  afloat. 

An'  de  Marster  buried  dat  nigger,  suh, 
In  de  white-folks '  graveyard,  sho ! 

An'  he  writ  'pon  a  white-folks'  tombstone, 
1 ' Ashcake "— jes'  "Ashcake"  so. 

An'  de  Marster  he  grieved  so  'bouten  dat  thing, 

It  warn'  long,  suh,  befo'  he  died; 
An'  he  's  sleep,  'way  down  in  Ferginyer, 

Not  fur  from  young  Ashcake 's  side. 


113 


ZEKYL'S  INFIDELITY 

MISTIS,  I  r'al'y  wish  you  'd  hole 
A  little  conversation 
Wid  my  old  Zekyl  'bout  his  soul. 

Dat  nigger's  sitiwation 
Is  mons'us  serious,  'deed  'n'  't  is, 
'Skusin'  he  change  dat  co'se  o'  his. 

Dat  evil  sinner  's  sot  he  face 

Ginst  ev'y  wud  I  know; 
Br'er  Gabrul  say,  he  's  fell  from  grace, 

An'  Hell  is  got  him  shoM 

He  don'  believe  in  sperits, 

'Skusin'  't  is  out  a  jug! 
Say  'tain'  got  no  mo'  merits 

Den  a  ole  half -cured  lug; 
'N'  dat  white  cat  I  see  right  late, 
One  evelin'  nigh  de  grave-yard  gate, 

114 


ZEKYL'S  INFIDELITY 

Warn't  nuttin'  sep  some  ole  cat  whar 
Wuz  sot  on  suppin'  off  old  hyah. 

He  'oont  allow  a  rooster 

By  crowin'  in  folks'  do', 
Kin  bring  death  dyah;  and  useter 

Say,  he  wish  mine  would  crow. 
An'  he  even  say,  a  hin  niout  try, 
Sep  woman-folks  would  git  so  spry, 
An'  want  to  stick  deeselves  up  den, 
An'  try  to  crow  over  de  men. 

'E  say  't  ain'  no  good  in  preachin'; 

Dat  niggers  is  sich  fools — 
Don'  know  no  mo'  'bout  teachin' 
'N  white- folks  does  'bout  mules; 
An'  when  br'er  Gabrul's  hollered  tell 
You  mos'  kin  see  right  into  Hell, 
An'  rambled  Scriptures  fit  to  bus', 
Dat  hard-mouf  nigger  's  wus  an'  wus. 

'E  say  quality  (dis  is  mainer 

'N  all  Ise  told  you  yit)  — 
Says  'tain'  no  better  'n  'arf -strainer ; 

An'  dat  his  master  '11  git 
115 


ZEKYL'S  INFIDELITY 

Good  place  in  Heaven— po '-white-folks,  mark! — 
As  y'  all  whar  come  right  out  de  ark; 
An'  dat— now  jes'  heah  dis! — dat  he, 
A  po '-white-folks '  nigger  's  good  as  me! 

He  's  gwine  straight  to  de  deble! 

An'  sarve  him  jes'  right,  too! 
He  's  a  outdacious  rebel, 

Arter  all  Ise  done  do ! — 
Ise  sweat  an'  arguified  an'  blowed 

Over  dat  black  nigger  mo' 
'N  would  'a '  teck  a  c  'nal-boat  load 

Over  to  Canyan  sho ' ! 

Ise  tried  refection — 't  warn'  no  whar! 
Ise  wrastled  wid  de  Lord  in  pra  'r ; 
Ise  quoiled  tell  I  wuz  mos  daid ; 
Ise  th'owed  de  spider  at  his  haid— 
But  he  ole  haid  't  wuz  so  thick  th'oo 
Hit  bus'  my  skillit  spang  in  two. 

You  kin  dye  black  hyah  an '  meek  it  light ; 
You  kin  tu  'n  de  Ethiope  's  spots  to  white ; 
You  mout  grow  two  or  three  cubics  bigger— 
But  you  carn't  onchange  a  po '-white-folks'  nigger. 

116 


ZEKYL'S  INFIDELITY 

When  you  's  dwellin'  on  golden  harps  an'  chunes, 
A  po-white-f  oiks '  nigger's  thinkin'  bout  coons; 
An'  when  you  's  snifflin'  de  heaven 'y  blossoms, 
A  po '-white-folks '  nigger  's  studyin'   'bout  possums. 


117 


MARSE  PHIL 


YES,  yes,  yon  is  Marse  Phil's  son;  you  favor  'm 
might 'ly,  too. 

We  wuz  like  brothers,  we  wuz,  me  an'  him. 
You  tried  to  fool  d'  ole  nigger,  but,  Marster,  'twouldn' 

do; 

Not  do  yo'  is  done  growed  so  tall  an'  slim. 


Hi!  Lord!  Ise  knowed  yo',  honey,  sence  long  befo' 

yo'  born— 

I  mean,  Ise  knowed  de  family  dat  long; 
An'  dees  been  white  folks,  Marster — dee  han  's  white 

ez  young  corn — 
An',  ef  dee  want  to,  couldn'  do  no  wrong. 

You'  gran 'pa  bought  my  mammy  at  Gen'l  Nelson's 

sale, 

An'  Deely  she  come  out  de  same  estate; 
An'  blood  is  jes'  like  pra'r  is— hit  tain'  gwine  nuver 

fail; 
Hit  's  sutney  gwine  to  come  out,  soon  or  late. 

118 


MARSE  PHIL 

When  I  wuz  born,  yo'  gran 'pa  gi'  me  to  young  Marse 
Phil, 

To  be  his  body-servant — like,  you  know; 
An'  we  growed  up  together  like  two  stalks  in  a  hill — 

Bofe  tarslin'  an'  den  shootin'  in  de  row. 

Marse  Phil  wuz  born  in  harves',  an'  I  dat  Christmas 

come; 

My  mammy  nussed  bofe  on  we  de  same  time; 
No  matter  what   one    got,   suh,   de   oder   gwine   git 

some — 
We  wuz  two  fibe-cent  pieces  in  one  dime. 

We  cotch  ole  hyahs  together,  an'  possums,  him  an' 
me; 

We  fished  dat  mill-pon'  over,  night  an'  day; 
Rid  horses  to  de  water ;  treed  coons  up  de  same  tree ; 

An'  when  you  see  one,  turr  warn'  fur  away. 

When  Marse  Phil  went  to  College,   't  wuz,  ''Sam- 
Sam  's  got  to  go." 

Ole  Marster  said,  "Dat  boy  's  a  fool  'bout  Sam." 
Ole  Mistis  jes'  said,  "Dear,  Phil  wants  him,  an',  you 

know — " 
Dat  "Dear"— hit  used  to  soothe  him  like  a  lamb. 

119 


MAESE  PHIL 

So  we  all  went  to  College— 'way  down  to  Williams- 
burg — 

But  't  warn'  much  1'arnin  out  o'  books  we  got; 
Dem  urrs  warn'  no  mo'  to  him  'n  a  ole  wormy  lug; 

Yes,  suh,  we  wuz  de  ve'y  top-de-pot. 

An'  ef  he  didn'  study  dem  Latins  an'  sich  things, 

He  wuz  de  popularetis  all  de  while 
De  ladies  use'  to  call  him,  "De  angel  widout  wings"; 

An'  when  he  come,  I  lay  dee  use'  to  smile. 

Yo'  see,  he  wuz  ole  Marster's  only  chile;  an'  den, 

He  had  a  body-servant— at  he  will; 
An'  wid  dat  big  plantation;   dee    'd  all  like  to  be 
brides ; 

Dat  is  ef  dee  could  have  de  groom,  Marse  Phil. 

'T  wuz  dyah  he  met  young  Mistis — she  wuz  yo'  ma, 

of  co  'se ! 

I  disremembers  now  what  mont'  it  wuz: 
One  night,  he  comes,  an'  seys  he,    "Sam,  I  needs  new 

clo'es"; 

An'  seys  I,  "Marse  Phil,  yes,  suh,  so  yo'  does." 
120 


MARSE  PHIL 

Well,  suh,  he  made  de  tailor  meek  ev'y  thing  bran' 

new; 

He  would  n'  w'ar  one  stitch  he  had  on  han' — 
Jes'  throwed   'em  in  de  chip  box,  an'  seys,  "Sam, 

dem  's  fur  you." 
Marse  Phil,  I  tell  yo',  wuz  a  gentleman. 

So  Marse  Phil  co'tes  de  Mistis,  an'  Sam  he  co'tes  de 

maid— 

We  always  sot  our  traps  upon  one  parf ; 
An'  when  we  tole  ole  Marster  we  bofe  wuz  gwine,  he 

seyd, 
"All  right,  we  '11  have  to  kill  de  fatted  calf." 

An'  dat  wuz  what  dee  did,  suh — de  Prodigal  wuz 

home; 

Dee  put  de  ring  an'  robe  upon  yo'  ma. 
Den  you  wuz  born,  young  Marster,  an'  den  de  storm 

hit  come; 
An'  den  de  darkness  settled  from  afar. 

De  storm  hit  corned  an'  wrenchted  de  branches  from 

de  tree — 
De  war— you'  pa — he  's  sleep  dyah  on  de  hill ; 

121 


MAKSE  PHIL 

An'  do  I  know,  young  Marster,  de  war  hit  sot  us  free  ? 
I  seys,  "Dat  's  so;  but  tell  me  whar  's  Marse  Phil?" 

"A   dollar!" — thankee,   Marster,   you   sutney  is   his 

son; 

You  is  his  spitt  an'  image,  I  declar'! 
What  sey,  young  Marster?    Yes,  suh:  you  sey,  "It  's 

five — not  one—" 
Yo'  favors,  honey,  bofe  yo'  pa  an'  ma ! 


122 


ONE  MOURNER 

(FOR  IRWIN  RUSSELL,  WHO  DIED  IN  NEW  ORLEANS  IN  GREAT 
DESTITUTION,  ON  CHRISTMAS  EVE,  1879) 

WELL,  well,  I  declar'l    I  is  sorry. 
He  's  'ceasted,  yo'  say,  Marse  Joe?- 
Dat  gent 'man  down  in  New  Orleans, 
Whar  writ  'bout'n  niggers  so, 

An'  tole,  in  all  dat  poetry 

You  read  some  time  lars'  year, 

'Bout  niggers,  an'   'coons,  an'   'possums, 
An'  ole  times,  an'  mules  an'  gear? 

Jes'  name  dat  ag'in,  sen,  please,  seh; 

Destricution  's  de  word  yo'  said? 
Dat  signifies  he  wuz  mons'us  po', 

Yo'  say  ?— want  meat  and  bread? 

Hit  mout:  I  never  knowed  him 
Or  hearn  on  him,  'sep'  when  you 

Read  me  dem  valentines  o'  his'n; 
But  I  lay  you,  dis,  seh  's,  true — 
123 


ONE  MOURNER 

Dat  lie  wuz  a  rael  gent 'man, 
Bright  fire  dat  burns,  not  smokes ; 

An'  ef  he  did  die  destricute, 
He  war  n't  no  po'- white-folks. 

Dat  gent 'man  knowed  'bout  niggers, 

Heah  me !  when  niggers  wuz 
Ez  good  ez  white-folks  mos',  seh, 

I  knows  dat  thing,  I  does. 

An'  he  could  'a'  tetched  his  hat,  seh, 

To  me  jes'  de  same  ez  you; 
An'  folks  gwine  to  see  what  a  gent 'man 

He  wuz,  an'  I  wuz,  too. 

He  could  n'  'a'  talked  so  natchal 
'Bout  niggers  in  sorrow  an'  joy, 

Widdouten  he  had  a  black  mammy 
To  sing  to  him  'long  ez  a  boy. 

An'  I  think,  when  he  tole  'bout  black-folks 
An'  ole-times,  an'  all  so  sweet, 

Some  nigh  him  mout  'a'  acted  de  ravins 
An'  gin  him  a  mouf-ful  to  eat, 

124 


ONE  MOURNER 

An'  not  let  him  starve  at  Christmas, 
"When  things  ain't  sca'ce  nowhar — 

Ef  he  hed  been  a  dog,  young  Marster, 
I  'd  'a  f  ceded  him  den,  I  'clar'! 

But  wait!    Maybe  Gord,  when  thinkin' 

How  po'  he  'd  been  himself, 
Cotch  sight  dat  gent 'man  scufflin', 

An'  'lowed  fur  to  see  what  wealf 

Hit  mout  be  de  bes'  to  gin  him, 
Ez  a  Christmas- gif ',  yo'  know; 

So  he  jes'  took  him  up  to  heaven, 
Whar  he  earn'  be  po'  no  mo'. 

An'  jes'  call  his  name  ag'in,  seh. 

How?— IRWIN  RUSSELL — so? 
I  'se  gwine  fur  to  tell  it  to  Nancy, 

So  ef  I  'd  furgit,  she  'd  know. 

An'  I  hopes  dey  '11  lay  him  to  sleep,  seh, 
Somewhar,  whar  de  birds  will  sing 

About  him  de  live-long  day,  seh, 

An'  de  flowers  will  bloom  in  Spring. 
125 


ONE  MOUENEE 

An'  I  wish,  young  Marster,  you  'd  meek  out 
To  write  down  to  whar  you  said, 

An'  sey,  dyar  's  a  nigger  in  Richmond 
Whar  's    sorry  Marse  Irwin  's  dead. 


126 


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